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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654554">Darklands</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackbudgettech/pseuds/blackbudgettech'>blackbudgettech</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Deltarune (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Bandits &amp; Outlaws, Cussing, Death, F/M, Gun Violence, Magic, Male Kris (Deltarune), Past Relationship(s), Post-Apocalypse, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-04-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:35:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>32,785</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654554</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackbudgettech/pseuds/blackbudgettech</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate universe where the prophecy was never fulfilled, plunging the world into an ever growing darkness.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Asriel Dreemurr &amp; Kris (Deltarune), Kris/Susie (Deltarune)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Prince and his Merry Band of Brigands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first time using this website, and one of the only fanfics I've actually spent time on.<br/>Big ups to Stinkin_Thinkin for editing this piece.<br/>Feel free to leave criticism in the comments!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Kris lay on a sleeping bag made of a cardboard box, using an old jacket as a pillow. He covered himself in a large quilt he had stolen from a shop in the big city. Earlier he ate well with some of the ill-gotten plunder from the hapless denizens alongside his "friends". Beans, tater tots, biscuits. Plenty to go around, too, so everyone got a good share. These days a good meal for him was unusual, on account of his scrawny stature. But tonight he went to sleep with a full belly, a really full one, something he hadn't felt since he was a kid.</p><p> </p><p>Seemed like it was ages past since then, memories of his youth growing more hazy and confused. After all, it was something Kris felt was necessary to shut out. If he thought of life as it once was and could have been he would start to cry. Not only was it humiliating, but it also ran the chance of bringing on a bad migraine.</p><p> </p><p>Happy memories became repressed in the darklands. Of course, he could never escape some memories. A trek through the dark, a failed mission, an unkept promise, a summer romance that seemed to right every wrong in the world…</p><p>It all felt unreal now, as if a half-remembered dream.</p><p>Luckily for Kris, he managed to drift off, slipping into a deep slumber under the starry skies. Drifting away, he thought they never seemed this bright when he was a kid.</p><p> </p><p>Kris awoke to an deafening bang that sent his heart racing. Then another. And another.</p><p>The young man jolted up, thinking he was getting shot at, only to see the boss, a skinny brunet with a well-kept mustache, aiming down the sights of a rifle. The rest of the guys were standing around watching him shoot the tin cans leftover from the previous night's meal, each perched on a rickety wooden fence that had long ago gone to seed. "One more," he snorted, and with that he blew away the last can, reducing it to smithereens. As the clip flew out the top of the gun, Kris heard a ping trill out from metal plinking against metal.</p><p> </p><p>Kris rose from his makeshift bed and joined the rest of the bunch. They were all humans, which was something he had to come to terms with early on when they first found him face down in the middle of nowhere. </p><p> </p><p>The boss stood silent, contemplating the rifle after having fired it. It looked old, resembling something from WW2, but for all its apparent age it looked pristine. Kris, and everyone else, awaited the head honcho's appraisal.</p><p>"This is it," he proclaimed. "This is our gotdamn ticket, fellas."</p><p> </p><p>A look of pure elation spread across the leader's face as he lifted the rifle to his mustachioed face and kissed it like a long lost lover. Bad Boy Flame, Prince of Rain, AKA Clarence Ferraro, despite being a beanpole, had been an officer in the military in a past life. Guns were his forte and yet he hadn't gotten his hands on any in years due to their scarcity outside of the remaining major urban centers. Even then, guns were mainly in the hands of the army or larger gangs, which were too dangerous to steal from. Thus, his own gang typically only hit travelers on the highway, people unlikely to be packing heat, and such tactics saw the bunch do moderately well for themselves. In fact, they did so well that the only reason they dared enter the city to burgle last time was that he had a dream he would find gold in one specific shop, The Cuddlebug. </p><p> </p><p>One of the bandits, Ted, nudged Kris. "We found it in a wood box with some ammo this morning. Guess we overlooked it last night. Cool, huh?"</p><p>Kris replied with a half-hearted nod.</p><p> </p><p>Ted dwarfed Kris in height as well as just about everyone else. He was a blonde, with green eyes and a thoughtful face, and didn't seem the roadside-raider type at a glance. It was unlikely he would be if unknown, unspoken circumstances hadn't led him down this path. </p><p> </p><p>The Prince slung the rifle over his shoulder and addressed his men. "This here killing machine is our ultimatum and such with the law. If the Brass runs into us we'll shoot it out I tell ya what. I'll bury them motherfuckin boot boys in a shallow grave and we'll take their gotdamn guns too! Who else can shoot? Anybody?"</p><p> </p><p>Bill, the boss's younger cousin, perked up. "I'm handy with a pistol, Mr. Flame! Daddy took me out huntin' critters with one n I got real good!"</p><p> </p><p>"Hyep! Who else?"</p><p> </p><p>Leyland, a dark-skinned man who had lived in a city until the law chased him out was next to speak up. "I know my way around a gun."</p><p> </p><p>Gary, the oldest of the bunch with graying hair and eyes that had seen too much, simply uttered a "Sure."</p><p> </p><p>When it came time for Kris to answer he simply shook his head no, but instinctively pulled a switchblade out of his pocket, a keepsake from his childhood, and opened it as a show of worthiness. </p><p>In response to Kris's display, the boss smiled and then laughed, but not at Kris's expense, more so with him. "You'll learn, kid."</p><p> </p><p>For breakfast, the bunch had a few Ice-E snack cakes and lukewarm bottled water. The boss was already planning on robbing travelers on the highway to Snowdin using the supplies they had acquired from the city: the gun, of course, and some nails. Unless they were unlucky and a convoy ended up passing by, one of them would stick the nails in the road and wait for someone to drive by and pop their tires. Should such a thing occur, they'd rush the driver and intimidate them with the rifle, at which point the car would be ransacked and set alight, it's owner thrown in a ditch unconscious or dead in a shallow grave should they give the bunch any grief.</p><p> </p><p>Finishing his breakfast, the Prince stood up, rifle in hand. "Let's go."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Easy Livin Canton City</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Susie gets dragged along a boring patrol and meets a few people.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Again, thanks to big man Stinkin_Thinkin for editing this piece.<br/>Enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Colonel Gelto had been dragging Susie and a couple of other rookies around on a patrol of the streets of Canton for an hour now, with several more to go, the purpose of which was easing them into their duties as a keeper of the peace both inside the city walls and out. It was a sort of ritual for him, although it was entirely unnecessary of him to do so. The portly brown bear monster was already past his prime, yet had more vigor than his protégés, at least when operating in the early morning. Susie, on the other hand, could hardly keep her eyes open in the jeep, much less be on alert, even after months of drills. Some things never changed. The only thing managing to keep her from drifting off was the numerous bumps in the road, one of which had resulted in the mashing of her snout against the jeep door as she slumped over, which woke her up enough to stop that from happening again.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly the radio buzzed to life with the voice of Phalanx command. "Den Mother to any units in the area, we've got a 10-62A at the, uh, Cuddlebug on Baker Street. The owner was robbed and is in distress."</p><p> </p><p>Gelto instinctively grabbed the radio and replied.</p><p> </p><p>"Den Mother, this is Papa Bear, my squad and I are close by. We'll check it out. Over."</p><p> </p><p>"Roger Papa Bear. Show those greenhorns how it's done. Out."</p><p> </p><p>The colonel chuckled and set the radio down as he made a U-turn, en route to Baker Street.</p><p> </p><p>Upon arrival the squad was met with a desolate early morning commercial street, harshly contrasted with what it would look like in just a few hours. The Cuddlebug was immediately noticeable, what with the large, charming sign written in a cartoonish font, underlined by said "cuddlebug", a caterpillar, or something similar. And, on the curb in front of it, sat a balding man in a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, face planted firmly in his palms. The jeep rolled up and parked, causing the old man to look up, and upon seeing him one could tell he was beet red with rage.</p><p> </p><p>"Took you long enough," he growled, as he stood up to meet the newly arrived soldiers. </p><p> </p><p>Susie wiped the sleep out of her eyes and took in her surroundings, being unfamiliar with this side of Canton. It seemed like the more “modern” side, with all the unlit neon lights, tall glass windows revealing interiors one could peer into but was obscured by darkness. There was a feeling of abandonment, at least until people woke up. To her left was the Cuddlebug, of course, but just beside it was a candy store called "Bakers Treat", and just down from that a pre-disaster tourist trap gift shop, its sign just slightly too obscured in the shadows to be legible. And, to her right stood a bookstore called Bookends. Susie thought it was a chain before everything went to waste. Some corporations, it seemed, had pulled through by the skin of their teeth in the midst of all the chaos, especially amongst the wealthy elite who found themselves in luxurious and remote underground compounds living artificially normal lives. Once the dust had settled, and people began repopulating the few remaining intact cities, these businesses saw their chance to spread out their influence again. </p><p>Susie, reminiscing on this fact, was startled when the owner began berating the squad.</p><p> </p><p>"I just had my shop broken into, had my shit stolen or broken, and you dumb FUCKS let it happen! That scum probably stole about five grand worth of shit and got out of the city SCOT FREE and out into the middle of the fucking darklands. Fuck!"</p><p> </p><p>Gelto talked the guy down while the cadets held back, as talking back to the victim would be against protocol, though Susie grit her teeth and clenched her fists; it boiled her blood to be blamed for things out of her hands. Eventually, though, the human was talked down. After that, the cadets learned the human’s name.</p><p>"Russ Morgan. My name is Russ Morgan."</p><p> </p><p>The squad was invited inside where Mr. Morgan explained what he believed to have happened. "They jimmied the lock and just walked right on in. Look at this. Look at this shit," he said, gesturing towards a busted glass countertop that once held a variety of cheap trinkets: folding knives, slinkies, glow sticks, what have you. All the food isles were cleaned out save for a few crushed packs of crackers littered across the floor. The coolers that had housed the drinks were also empty, their doors left wide open with chilled air still pouring out. Clothes racks weren't spared either, the various multicolored "I ♡ Canton", "Easy Livin' Canton City" or any of the other various shirts had vanished save for the child-sized ones. </p><p> </p><p>Almost everything was stolen, save for the more useless gift shop baubles like snow globes, which had been thrown on the ground and broken for what one could only guess was what passed for fun.</p><p> </p><p>"What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do with this now? I've got nothing. I had this business before the shit hit the fan and nothing this bad ever happened before. I'm serious. Ever since you MPs came nothing ever gets-"</p><p> </p><p>"We'll have an analyst here soon. How about the backroom?" interrupted Gelto.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh yeah. They got in there too. Hell, I'm surprised they didn't steal the soap and toilet paper out of the bathroom, the scum. Ehhh…" </p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, just as they made their way to the back, someone came out cradling a small box of things to his chest, startled by the soldiers. He was a monster, a white-furred goat looking one, dressed in a faded blue Hawaiin shirt and khakis. Susie looked him over; she was sure she knew him.</p><p> </p><p>Russ himself was also surprised by the monster’s arrival. “Oh, Mr. Dreemurr, I forgot you were here. I was just, you know, talking with the authorities. You know how it is.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p> </p><p>The goat scanned the squad, going from Gelto, the other soldiers, and finally his gaze landed on Susie. So familiar, right on the very tip of his tongue, yet he couldn’t exactly place it, too tired to really think. </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry if I’m in the way. I’ve got my stuff from my locker. Lucky I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>Russ bid the monster to go home after some questions from Gelto, and he did, brushing past the squad as he went. Susie racked her brain for a name, yet came up empty-handed.</p><p> </p><p>The backroom was in a somewhat better condition than the front of the shop. Of course, snacks from the breakroom were gone, along with much of the stuff that hadn't yet made it to the shelves, but the lockers hadn't been touched, at least not extensively, being fitted with some fairly fancy, sturdy locks as well as being made of tougher stuff on their own. There was one thing Russ was especially upset about, though.</p><p> </p><p>"The rifle. The fucking rifle. You know, it- uh, my sister brought me it one day. It was my grandpa's rifle. He, well, he didn't turn it in after the war… kept it."</p><p> </p><p>He paused. The soldiers waited patiently for his follow up. </p><p> </p><p>"Been in my family for years, my uncle's been taking care of it, it still looks brand new, and when he kicks the bucket they want me to have it. So my sister just drops it off here in a fucking wooden box. Even had some ammo just sitting in there with it like it just wanted to be used, like, Angel above man, I feel honored to have the thing! Then I forget it here, one night, and it's gone. Forever."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The day was long and uneventful after the encounter at the Cuddlebug, which in itself was pointless; the colonel talked to the owner before calling in the specialists who did the real work. The rest of the day had boiled down to dreary chores that left Susie tired like nothing else. There was only one place for her to go after a day such as this.</p><p> </p><p>Jimmy's Place was a bar in the seedier part of town, the part Susie was familiar with. Her first time there, not all that long ago, was when they had first cut her hair short and put her through hellish basic training, back when she thought she was in it for the action, whereas nowadays it was the notion of helping people. Susie usually had a drinking buddy, a human machine gunner who <em>had </em>seen action by the name of Ritchie, but today she was all by her lonesome. She was never outgoing, even after a brush with teenage romance, and her experience in the darklands only made her retreat further into herself. Thus, she never sought out anyone else, content in her little corner. Besides, all she really wanted to do was get drunk first, talk later.</p><p> </p><p>An indeterminate amount of time later,  a warm voice filled Susie's ears besides the half listened to music and drunken conversation.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey. Mind if I sit here?"</p><p> </p><p>Susie looked up from the bottom of her glass and was met with that same blue shirt and khakis from earlier. "I know you." She drawled.</p><p> </p><p>"Me too, I think. So… may I?" </p><p> </p><p>"I- uh, you- sure, of course, sure."</p><p> </p><p>The goat monster pulled a seat out and sat down, nursing a drink of his own. "Oh, yeah, I forgot. My name's Asriel."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm… Susie. You… you're from Hometown, right?"</p><p> </p><p>"Born and raised. You know, now that I think about it, I knew I recognized you from there. You remember my little brother, Kris, right?"</p><p> </p><p>Memories flooded in of a more mystical time. <em>"Let's go back there tomorrow, alright?" </em></p><p> </p><p>"Kris… yeah, me and that punk, we were…"</p><p> </p><p>A deep longing swelled up within her chest.</p><p> </p><p>"We were a thing and stuff."</p><p> </p><p>Asriel smiled, reminiscing. "My mom wrote to me about you two back in college. Said it was the happiest she ever saw both of you. Wish I could've been around to see it."</p><p> </p><p>Susie, on the verge of shedding drunken tears, sniffed and wiped her eyes, trying to keep composure. "Y-Yeah. Yeah. It was great. I hope he's not… dead…"</p><p> </p><p>Asriel's smile faded somewhat as he read the room. He finished off his whiskey before continuing. "... I don't know where he is. Hell, I don't even know where my parents are. I was all the way in Ebott when it all went down. I guess they all got to the F.E.D. camps but… I dunno. I just drift around now." </p><p> </p><p>He scratched his neck before changing the subject. "What's the army like?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh. I drill. Or, I do drills I mean.. I do drills in the army. I'm in the army and stuff," she replied.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah…."</p><p> </p><p>Talk after that was minimal, and eventually Asriel bid Susie farewell and goodnight. She looked down at her reflection in the bottom of her glass; someone broken up over her highschool sweetheart. She let out a sob then wiped her tears, polishing off the glass and awkwardly hobbled her way out of the bar. Using what little of her better judgment remained she hitched a ride back to the barracks with some soldiers who had just come from off duty themselves. Then, it was lights out, and just before passing out, she thought about the hangover she'd have in the morning</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Score</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Prince and his cronies use their newfound firepower to intimidate! Kris, of course, is apprehensive.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The big man Stinkin_Thinkin, back at it again helping me improve. Thanks dude.<br/>Enjoy. Critique appreciated.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kris and Leyland ran into the road carrying a few pieces of plywood covered in nails with duct tape before setting them in a line across its width. The rest of the gang watched, crouched under thick overgrown grass not too far away. The Prince was especially alert, keeping the rifle close to his chest, finger just a moment's notice from the trigger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Leyland placed down his second and final board and hightailed his way to the bunch, only to glance at Kris trying to line his boards up perfectly, gauging their exact distance between one another, before moving onto Leyland's set, which was comparatively haphazardly placed. "Bro, come on before somebody sees you or you get ran over."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kris begrudgingly gave up on tidying up the boards and joined the bunch in the grass. It was some time before there was any sign of traffic, which was typical so early in the morning these days. Traffic, in general, had gotten a bit scarce, with people inside the cities and towns opting to stay within their confines for fear of the unknown things lurking out in the darklands. And, of course, people like The Prince of Rain and his colleagues; menaces to a society which came dangerously close to completely collapsing after the incident. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After some time of uneventful waiting, smacking a bug off his cheek, Gary perked up and peered off down the road. Despite his age, he had the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a hunting dog. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Something's coming. Right side."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Prince smiled and kissed the rifle, an increasingly common tick of his. "Yes… hehe. I could feel it in my chest. They're close. Get ready, fellas." </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Most of the gang felt at least a little excited. They didn't need the stuff from whoever they were going to rob; hitting the Cuddlebug gave them more than enough supplies to last at least a couple months. It was for the rush, that feeling The Prince had craved since being discharged, and one the rest had grown accustomed to themselves, save for Kris. He thought he might have gotten used to the forays into civilization by now but that wasn't the case. Maybe he was too coddled in his youth or had too good of a heart, perhaps both. Either way, he got shakes before every attack. Yet, Kris never got the notion to leave the group; he felt he owed them something for pulling him out of that ditch and offering him another chance, no matter how weak or incompetent he seemed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everyone could hear the car coming now. It was just a matter of time… </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Catrick was cruising down the highway in a Cimarron at about 60 miles per hour, plugged into a Walkman he found in a garbage dump a week ago, listening to a mixtape some Russian guy probably put together considering the language most of the songs were in. The cat boy flipped his dyed black bangs out of his eyes periodically, the only thing keeping him from a full-on trance while driving. He and his girlfriend, Catti, were on their way to Snowdin to meet Catrick's cousin, Catkle, to claim his inheritance left behind by Catrick's mother, Cather. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Babe," Catti said. She saw something up ahead in the road. "Hey, babe." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn't hear her. The music had enraptured him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Я действительно ненавижу свою маму~! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Я очень хочу порезаться!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He found himself singing along despite the language barrier. It spoke to him, deep down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Babe, there's like, stuff on the road. Slow down."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Мне очень грустно и одиноко!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ебать дерьмо, ебать дерьмо, ебать дерьмо!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catti eventually nudged him, and he broke out of the trance, but it was already too late. He tried to hit the breaks before he ran over whatever it was in the road but inertia carried both tires over the mystery objects. He took the headphones off and heard the dreaded hiss of air leaving the tires. He was shocked for a moment, then the panic set in. "Oh Angel. Oh Angel please oh Angel…!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catti quickly opened the glove compartment and dug under the pistol and some papers for her boyfriend's inhaler. "Take it!"</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing the car drive straight over the nails and make a full stop only a few feet ahead, the gang rose from the grass and sprinted towards their target to catch them off guard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bill let out a war cry as they surrounded the car."AIIIYAYAYAY!! I’M COMIN FOR YA!!!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Prince approached the driver's side and brandished the rifle. "Alright. Come on out now 'n I won't blast ya."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catrick rolled down the window and looked at the people on his side: The Prince, Ted, and Kris. Kris pulled his knife and clicked it open, pointing it while trembling ever so slightly. Leyland, Gary, and Bill were on the other side trying to open the passenger door. Catrick took a rip of his inhaler before speaking. "Yo, uh, like, don't do this, bro. Just lemme go, bro."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Nope. Get on out before I blow yer whiskers off." The Prince brought the rifle closer to the cat monster's face, who in turn gulped and raised his hands before unlocking the car door to step out. Just as he was doing so, a commotion broke out on the passenger's side; Gary tore out the window and began grabbing Catti, catching a glimpse of the pistol she was about to grab out of the glove box. Bill helped Gary wrestle the gun out of her hands while Leyland went to work busting the back passenger window open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"This don't have to escalate any further, kitty. Tell yer squeeze to calm down or give up the ghost." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catrick turned around to Catti, who had already been stripped of the gun by Gary and Bill but still stirring up a fuss, hurling insults and resisting the bandit's advances. "Babe, just like, give up or something." He said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"UGH. Fine! Not like there's any crap worth saving in here anyway." She stopped and held her hands up, rolling her eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kris immediately recognized her voice when she stopped yelling. He went to school with her, he knew it, and immediately his heart dropped. He was partaking in the robbery of one of his former classmates, and although she was never particularly kind to Kris, it made him feel terrible. Tears welled, and that awful throbbing in his skull began to rear its ugly head. He said nothing, but wiped the tears on the inside of his coat and turned away from The Prince and Ted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soon enough the couple stepped out of the car and were lined up in front of it. Leyland busted in and retrieved beer and snacks from the backseat, although much of it had already been consumed. The trunk was opened and some luggage, a lot of black plus size women's clothes and size small sweatshirts and jeans, all popular and expensive brands that mostly only the rich buy. Common folk would pay a pretty penny for it in less reputable circles, although not as pretty a penny as they would at these high-end clothing stores. Besides clothes, they had a Walkman, a camera, and an acoustic guitar, all of which would make it back to the gang's ever growing stash. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After the car was picked clean, which was rather quick, The Prince approached the couple, who were still standing by the hood. "Welp, I thank ya for yer time and cooperation. Made it easy for us."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What're you gonna do to us?" Asked Catti.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Simple," he replied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Prince quickly whacked Catrick across the cheek with the rifle then brought the butt against Catti's chin, causing Kris to yelp. Both of the cat monsters fell to the ground unconscious. "That'll do."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ted scratched the back of his head. "Are they gonna be alright?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"They'll be fine, I didn't dust em. 'Sides, who cares anyhow?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kris was trying his best not to let out a sob, facing away from the group and hiding his face in his jacket. No one paid him much mind, though, instead focusing on the score.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their victims were dragged into the tall grass while Kris was told to stuff the fuel receptacle full of papers. The Prince came back, pat Kris on the back, and told him "Good job," setting the papers alight then bursting into a full sprint which Kris was soon to follow. By the time they were halfway back to the camp, the big boom let off, and everyone instinctively ducked, although no debris came for them. One could see the fire and smoke if they turned around, and it wouldn't be long before the law came for their piece. Thus, they would break down camp and haul everything they had to greener pastures. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Prince had grown ambitious…</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Justice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A couple of familiar faces make a return at the Sunbow Headquarters,  a company slowly going down the drain!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry this took so long. It's a bit of a long chapter!<br/>HEY STINKIN THANKS!!!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The day was quiet in Snowdin. A large portion of the town was destroyed in the incident, but not enough for the government to completely give up on it in their reconstruction efforts across the country. Thus, people still lived and worked there, although it was a pittance compared to its heyday. The entire town hadn't been finished yet, which meant there was constant construction going on day in and day out. Still, it held its reputation as a vacation spot, at least a safe stop for the long dangerous road ahead, namely having a gift shop, gas station, a few places to shop and eat, and a motel. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was one other place, though, worthy of attention; The Sunbow Guard, named after the flaming bow in their logo. It was a bounty hunting agency, a long-established Blackburn family business before the incident. It used to just be "Sunbow", back when it handled bail enforcement like everybody else, but after things went south and opportunists began cropping up, the much weaker government began handing out contracts to bounty hunters just as they did in the Wild West, bringing them in at any cost, dead or alive. During these years Sunbow made more money than most, and their operations expanded, until their headquarters in the south, alongside the rest of the city it resided in, burnt to the ground two years ago. The beginning of the end, the company packed what was left and headed to the midwest where they found themselves today. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, he's so dreamy! Oh… Tony Purnesti, I think he's Italian. God, Italy just has it better than we do." Miss Harris crooned to herself as she read one of the magazines she bought at the gas station earlier in the morning, this one being a copy of Le Beau, a men's fashion magazine. Many publications had recently gone back into production on account of a nationwide lift on paper rationing, which made Miss Harris quite happy; her job as secretary was deathly boring without at least a little reading material. She skipped over every page with a monster model and went straight to admiring what she thought were the real men, muttering about them to herself and tapping her long red nails against the desk, using the other hand to turn the page and rest her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few moments later the door opened again, and the other secretary, Noelle Holiday, giddily came through with a large bag from the local Ice-E and a variety of coffee. "Hiiii!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Miss Harris set her magazine down and greeted "Oh, Noelle, good morning. Well, what's this you've brought us today?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, just breakfast. I-I know you guys usually fend for yourselves but-" she paused, setting the bag and coffee on the desk, sorting through it. "I figured it'd be nice and all. Here!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Noelle placed a to-go box filled with eggs, bacon, and a biscuit in front of Miss Harris, alongside a cup of vanilla frappuccino, much to her delight. "Why, Miss Holiday, you are such a doll. Thank you. The boys are upstairs, by the way." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're welcome, a-and of course, thanks."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Noelle sat the bag down to open the elevator, and as soon as she entered she did the same to go up. There were only three buttons: one for the basement, one for the lobby, and one for the offices above. While heading up Noelle smoothed down her blazer and skirt, making sure to appear as prim and proper as she could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The doors opened and Noelle was greeted with some of the bounty hunters sitting around like usual: Grant, a pallid young tracker and likely a genius, sitting at his desk, cleaning his specs, looking over the criminal registry. He didn't say much, but hearing the elevator open, he looked up and flashed a smile before going right back to his reading. Doggo, a dog monster and newest addition to the team, sat back with a doggy treat in his mouth, attempting to light it. A curious thing about him is that he failed the standard vision test, but after some minor pleading and convincing, was allowed to use the moving targets at the range, and proved to be a crack shot at knife throwing, of all things. A peculiar condition, and one that would have seen him turned away anywhere with more sensible management. Finally, there was the Blackburn heir himself, Clyde. A young, strapping blonde, dressed in his usual three-piece, looking unusually solemn. "Holiday." He grumbled, hunched over his desk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Noelle noted his demeanor before speaking. "Hi! I've got something for you guys!" She went around handing out breakfast platters and coffee to the gentlemen. The breakfasts were all the same, eggs and bacon, but Grant got an au lait, Doggo a frappe, and for the boss himself a pure black coffee. As she set the cup down she lowered herself to whisper to him. "H-Hope you feel better, Mr. Balckburn." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ever so slightly, he brightened up, although he didn't say a word.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were a few leftovers, one for Noelle herself of course, but two for currently missing employees: Tesco and Bruce. For now, though, they enjoyed their meals</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clyde took a sip of his coffee before speaking. "Thanks, Holiday. And just set the rest in the kitchen, the other guys will be here any minute."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ok. Hope you enjoy it and all."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Noelle set the bag down on one of the roundtables in the breakroom, then putting the coffees in the microwave to box in their warmth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Going back down to the lobby, she swirled around and waved goodbye to the bounty hunters, who in turn waved back, save for Doggo who was too busy chowing down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There wasn't much in the way of conversation in the mornings at Sunbow. Clyde, as he did almost every morning, thought about his father, Daniel Blackburn. He kept a picture on his desk, taken by his mother, long before the incident, of him and his dad. Clyde himself couldn't have been older than 3 or 4, perched on his father's shoulders at the county fair. They were both smiling and laughing the day away. Clyde wore his dad's old cowboy hat, hardly staying on his tiny head, which was what prompted the picture to be taken in the first place. He still had that hat somewhere.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One day, Daniel passed away in his sleep, far before his time. When the doctors finally came in, they said it had been a massive heart attack. Maybe it was his drinking, maybe it was the stress. Either way, he was gone. Most of his employees left then, unsure of his son's capabilities and fearing the worst. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stricken with grief and with a fraction of Sunbow's former glory, Clyde was ready to give up at one point, sell his assets, and go live in Canton or some other place that didn't have room for his ilk. Yet, one day, there was a shift in his person, a feeling in his chest one morning, a stroke of confidence strong enough to start hiring talent again… albeit, with slightly lower standards than before, but you get what you can from a pool consisting of folks passing through a small, unfinished town. He'd like to think his father was proud, despite the circumstances.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few hours later, at a quarter till two, the blue rotary phone on the corner of Clyde’s desk began to ring, piquing the interest of the whole office. Typically, it meant only one thing: there was work to do. A job that neither Tesco nor Bruce would be getting this time, seeing as they hadn’t thought to show up. With a satisfied grin, the boss picked up the phone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Blackburn.” It was Miss Harris’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s a… man...  named Catrick here who’d like to speak with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does he have an appointment? I don’t remember there being any appointments.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No sir, but he says it’s urgent.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thought for a moment before concluding. “What the hell, fine, send the guy up. Not like I’ve had my hands full today anyhow.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes sir. You can go on up now…” Click.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The elevator soon opened and revealed a beaten down and rather raggedy looking cat monster, clad in what was formerly a nice, designer shirt, now covered in dirt, grime, and sweat stains. His black skinny jeans held more than one unintentional hole in them. On his feet were cheap flip flops Clyde recognized came from the gift shop. To top it off, the cat monster's jaw was swollen like he tried to eat a baseball, a half-washed stream of blood running down his tuxedo style fur from where a fang once was. Wasn't so often someone so downtrodden walked into the office.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello there,” said Clyde.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey… uh, are you, uh Danny Blackburn?” He looked uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No sir.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“ Oh. Well.. can I.. like.. sit down..?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course. Doggo, would you kindly?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slightly annoyed, Doggo got up from his comfy chair and brought one from Tesco's vacant desk to the esteemed guest, who plopped down and let out a strained sigh, flipping his hair back out of his eyes. “You know, like, I sorta walked here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And what exactly brings you... Catrick?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well… I WAS coming here to get, like, my inheritance. I was driving from Nebanice when like six douchebags held me up on the road. They DESTROYED my car and took all my stuff, and they even beat up me and my girl, dude. I had to WALK here dude. And when I finally got here my cousin Catkle told me about you guys and said a 'Danny' owed my dad a favor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clyde sized up the yuppie with both pity and contempt. He was frustrated but nervous, twitchy. Out of his element, clearly. Clyde could sympathize, but what he interpreted as disrespect was almost too much to bear. Still, he played along. A good job was worth it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? Who’s your dad?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sir Cadrick Barclay Ripley III, but everyone just called him Cad. Like, he was a big deal. He’s dead though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t ring any bells. Needless to say, we don’t really operate on favors, and if we did, it would have gone to the grave with both of them. Daniel Blackburn is dead, I’m his son. Hell, you want these guys found so bad, have you even gone to the proper authorities first?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catrick's eyes widened at those words, but he tried to play it cool. "Oh… sorry… And, well, no, but like, everyone knows how useless MPs are… besides, I’m super rich now!!! Why would I wanna rely on them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ha. I figured. Even so, I'd be remiss to turn away the victim of a violent crime. Of course, you can still fill out all the paperwork that comes with… what do you call it… a 'private' contract. Now-” Clyde gestured for Grant to come over and take notes. “Why don’t you describe these guys for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>In the lobby, a dejected and dirty Catti sat on a brown leather loveseat in the typically vacant waiting area, propping her feet up on the mahogany coffee table in front of her. She was about to crack open a news magazine, one on the topic of “rebuilding”, before Noelle excitedly got up from the desk and trotted her way over to the former classmate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi! Are you- i-is your name Catti?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes… and you’re…” Seemingly nonplussed, she set the magazine down for a moment to think. “You’re…  Noelle. Like the star of the cross country team back in high school?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes! Yes, that’s me, haha. Small world, eh?” Feeling more comfortable, Noelle blithely took a seat beside Catti, crossing her legs and folding her hands atop her lap, in stark contrast to Catti’s own casual, if exhausted, posture.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah… small world." Catti rubbed her eyes and sighed heavily. "Sorry I'm just… really tired."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Noelle nodded in response. "I'm sorry. I can get back to-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No, no. You're fine. Like, it's been a long time."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not entirely sure what to say next, the secretary defaulted to a tried and true formula. "So, uhm, how've you been?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Aside from getting mugged and having to walk a million miles, I could be doing worse. I could be dead, I guess."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That's awful- b-but don't you worry! Bandits are nothing to be feared, because here at S-Sunbow, we never fail!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That stutter, a detail that had escaped Catti over the years, brought a smile to her face. It reminded her of better times, even if she didn't know those *were* the good times back then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Heh… do they, like, pay you to say that?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"…Maybe…" Noelle said, a half cocked smile spreading across her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I figured…" her smile faded somewhat, not from the doe's corny remark, but because of how dead tired she felt. "Hey, do you wanna, like, grab a coffee..?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh! Um-" Noelle flashed an unknowingly pleading glance at Miss Harris, who in turn looked up from her third magazine of the day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, go ahead. Wouldn't want to get in the way of a reunion." She sighs. "I'll hold the fort down."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Receiving "permission", the two left to Ice-E's. The day had become overcast and blustery as it went on, but a few people were still out and about, sounds of construction temporarily abated. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The restaurant was wedged between a gas station and the Brookwell apartments, its unlit neon sign looming large. This one, though, lacked the iconic "PEZZA" like the one back home. Stepping in, one could hear the beginnings of some old pop song played softly over the jukebox.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It's been a long time</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I didn't think I was ever gonna see you again</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I see you haven't changed</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It's good to see you anyway~</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A couple of patrons were sitting around picking away at their food, some human, some not, some looking like they'd done a tour deep in the darklands while others looked halfway normal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The decor of the place was decidedly playing on nostalgia, with the checkered floors and predominantly red color scheme. This place, like a lot of places around Snowdin, was bought by a corporation when rebuilding began. Instead of gutting the place, ICE-E's restored it as it was, letting it stand as a sort of novelty. It wasn't even fast food anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wow. This is… a lot similar to QC's." Catti took in her surroundings while Noelle chose a booth. They sat next to the window, with a clear view of the increasingly bleak day, watching as the rain began to soak the streets of Snowdin. Lucky they got there when they did, she thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An older human waitress, Jo Ann, served them. Noelle declined to order, breakfast still holding her over, and Catti opted only to have a plain coffee. Despite being in higher spirits than before, a knot in her stomach persisted, and she knew she couldn't eat anything. The two resumed their talk then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So um. What've you been doing since the… c-camps?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just uttering the word brought back memories for Noelle. The world was falling apart around her, and worst of all, she was separated from her parents during the evacuation. She shared space with strangers from another town over, humans no less. It was the moment she got over her fear of humans outside of Kris.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, it's kinda like, fuzzy. I do remember after I left I found a courier gig."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Courier? You drove those big trucks?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catti smirked and nodded. "Yeah. They didn't have very high standards back then. Or any, really. They had to teach me to drive a semi."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jo Ann came back with Catti’s coffee, eliciting a "thank you" from her before continuing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The company that hired me didn't pay me. Like, not with money, at least. I got boarding and hot meals. Better off than a lot of people I guess." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wow…" Noelle listened with great interest, leaning forward as if to not miss a single word. Catti, it seemed, led a more interesting life than Noelle. "What'd you haul..?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I wasn't always sure. Pretty sure it was just stuff like food, building materials, things like that." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pause, and a sip of coffee. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sometimes dudes with guns rode with me… I didn't question it though. Probably cuz I was riding through dangerous routes or something. Anyway, I stopped when I met Catrick."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He was kinda charming but stupid, and most of all completely loaded. He went to the bunkers when things fell apart, y'know. I'd literally been a slave for like four years so it seemed like a good tradeoff."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That it is, I suppose." Noelle looked out the window to see the light drizzle had progressed into cats and dogs. What little activity the streets saw today was quickly vanquished.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catti rubbed her temple and seemed to be in deep thought. "Anyway… how'd you end up here?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looked mildly surprised before turning somewhat forlorn, although she tried to shut out the memories and keep up a cheerful facade."Oh! Well, to be honest, I-I was just sorta lost for a long time. I really don't want to talk about it.. but um.. I was just passing through here when I got the job at Sunbow! They've been good to me. Snowdin's really nice too!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catti didn't immediately answer. Seemed as though she were racking her brain now that the coffee had provided some clarity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ugh.. I just.. remembered something.."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Huh? What is it?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You remember Kris?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Kris? Yes! H-He was one of my best friends." Her thoughts went right back to the times the human would play those pranks on her. "What is it?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catti's visage shifted to uncertainty. "I think I saw him. Like…" She inhaled deeply and brought her face to her palms. "I thought I saw him with the guys that robbed us."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Noelle's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. "N-No way!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I can't be sure, but it looked JUST like him. I just caught a glance but… I know what I saw."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I- you- you should be telling this to Mr. Blackburn..!" </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>After Catrick gave his descriptions, Grant hurriedly leafed through the registry for anyone that matched, especially the leader. They had to be fast if they wanted to catch the cutthroats in a timely manner. As he did so, Clyde pressed Catrick for more information.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Is there </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> else you can think of? Did you catch anything about where they were headed? Names? Nicknames?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catrick took a rip of the inhaler once again, one of the few things he didn't lose to the bandits, before speaking. "Bro, like, they didn't say anything like that! Uhh…" He tried to think of something even slightly relevant. "The leader guy sounded like a hick, and so did the younger guy that kinda looked like him."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grant practically hopped over to the interviewee, presenting a bunch of files to him."Sir- look, look, see if you recognize any of these men."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catrick rifled through each of them, ten in all, for a familiar face. Most of them were just look-alikes, men that at least vaguely matched the descriptions. But then Catrick found him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were a couple of pictures of him on file. In one, he was dressed in a military uniform with a green beret, standing in front of the American flag, no facial hair to speak of, with an almost handsome if stoic face. The other was a mugshot, looking much gaunter than the last one, the man whose gun Catrick stared down the barrel of.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ferraro, Clarence J.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>M</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Caucasian</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hair: Brown - Eyes: D. Hazel - Height: 6'2  -Weight: 153 - Age: 38</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Date of Birth: 9/23/1987</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Served from 10/29/2009 - 3/30/2021</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>51-234-952</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Date of Arrest: 4/02/2023</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Charges: 4 counts of grand theft auto, 2 counts of breaking and entering, 10 counts of battery and assault, 3 counts of armed robbery, 2 counts of murder</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Charged with life in the Cornelus Penitentiary </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Addendum: Involved in the Cornelus Prison Break on 6/19/2023. Remains at large as of 2025. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Him. That's him." Catrick pointed at his photo, handing it to Clyde.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking at the record he raised an eyebrow. "Angel above, this guy's a real jerkoff. I'll have to make a copy of this… do you recognize any of the other ones?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No. I don't." Catrick sat the rest of the files down and took another rip of his inhaler.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I see. In any case, this Clarence guy should lead us to the rest." Clyde opened his desk drawer and grabbed a sizable stack of papers and a pen, presenting them to his customer. "This is yours. Grant will help you if you've got any questions. Now, if you'll excuse me for a moment-" The young boss stood up from his seat, straightened his tie, and headed for the elevator, en route to the basement. Catrick looked over the papers and took one last puff of the inhaler before enlisting Grant to help him fill out the papers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clyde stepped out of the elevator and was greeted with a small armory behind a gate, the motion sensor lights flicking on all at once to reveal its sleek grey walls and rows of all manner of weapons on either side, flanking the elaborate shooting range. He felt a bit like a king in the company of his resplendent little gun room. It was true that most of Sunbow Guard was lost and nearly forgotten, yet this place reminded him that he still held a fortune, especially in times such as these.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was one gun he had in mind, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clyde punched the passcode to the gate and walked through. It seemed like the air got colder the further he went in, and as he stepped towards his destination, a green cabinet between two racks of rifles, a chill jolted up his spine. He opened the cabinet, which had been left unlocked for quite some time, revealing a multitude of ammunition and various magic stimulants for monsters. He cleared one spot in the middle of the cabinet, setting the ammo aside, feeling its back wall for one slight deviation in its design. After some time finding its precise edges, he sunk his nails into the plate and removed it, revealing a compartment hiding away a safe. This was it… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Heart pounding, he took his time unlocking the safe, irrationally feeling he was being watched and any small deviation would result in harsh punishment. Once he did, though, the young boss opened it delicately and gazed at the large black marble box ensconced within. Slowly, he pulled it out, undone the latch, and opened it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Within was a revolver, one that filled up the box completely, ten inches in all. Clyde set the box down and held the gargantuan thing in his hands, getting a feel for its heft. He opened the cylinder and looked down the lengthy and wide chambers. There was no mistaking it; this was his father's very own five-shot .500 magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world. Clyde almost wanted to recite that speech word for word. </span>
  <em>
    <span>…'do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya, punk?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His dad had bought it as a novelty the year Clyde was born, back when it was new. He remembered, throughout his childhood, Daniel went out to shoot it, and it was the biggest bang he had ever heard and the worst recoil he'd ever experienced. Later on, even little Clyde got to feel it firsthand. Several times. He even got used to the devastating recoil after a while. Once everything changed, though, was when Daniel began carrying the pistol with him. Even in old age, he went out on the jobs, bagging murderers and highwaymen. Of course, he never fired it at anyone. He said the thing was intimidating enough that many would surrender when confronted. Whether the stories were true or not mattered little, as he came back unscathed and the bad guys went away alive most of the time. Ever since he died it had been kept in pristine condition and locked away as a gesture of respect for the departed. This was the first time it had seen the light of day in two years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He found the ammo for it laying around in the very same cabinet. 400 grain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He loaded the revolver up and decided to squeeze off a round or two at targets. He aimed, held his breath, and braced himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a resounding BOOM and brilliant fireball, the bullet was flung at Angel knows what velocity. Clyde rubbed his wrist and brought the target back although even from this distance one could see the mark it had left. A hole the size of a fist, maybe a bit bigger, sat squarely in the middle of the paper target. The gun still had it… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So like… how much am I paying you guys?" asked Catrick. He and Grant had nearly finished signing the papers in record time, sloppily of course, but signed all the same. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah uh, let's see, let's see. Lemme just-" Grant pulled out a calculator, his very own 'Crime Calculator', one he had designed himself. Each key had a symbol instead of a number on it, a money bag for robbery, a knife for murder, so on so forth. He seemed to punch in a hundred keys a second before finally coming to a conclusion. "Let's see. With uh, Mr. Ferarro and all his charges, plus his cronies, that's uh, about seven hundred k if we get 'em all alive."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Bro, like, yeah, okay, I'll do it. Screw those guys, man, I'm friggin loaded!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right about then the elevator arrived and Clyde walked through, now clad in a bandolier under his coat and an almost comically large pistol on his hip. "Gentlemen. I suppose if we're finished here, it'd be wise to arm yourselves. We’re moving in 20." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Doggo and Grant both gave him a yessir and headed down the same way Clyde came from, flashing a glance at the gun as they passed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you, Mr. Catrick. You agree to our terms?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cat had become almost jittery at the thought of those bastards getting caught and swinging for their actions. “Yeah! But like… I've got a few more papers to sign though."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course. Take your time. Make arrangements for you and your girlfriend to stay with that cousin of yours too.” Clyde breathed in deeply and stretched. He was ready. More than ready. He'd been waiting for a moment like this his whole life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually, everyone met in the lobby. Grant had opted to take one of the fancier guns down there, the MP5, while Doggo chose his knives and nothing else. Noelle and Catti were waiting for them by the time they had gotten themselves together, Noelle approaching them while Catti lay in the waiting area nearly passed out for one reason or another. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-I’m glad I caught you guys! Um-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is it? We’re about to head out,” spat Clyde, who was debriefing the hunters on their initial plan to probe the destroyed car and go from there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“About that! We.. we have information, I think, on one of the bandits..!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grant immediately pulled out his notepad to catch anything of note while Doggo remained silent as he always did. Blackburn, astonished, turned his full attention to the doe. “What? How? Who is it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Catti was one of my c-classmates, a-and she said she saw… she said she saw one of my b-best friends growing up, with the bandits.” It visibly pained her to say it, a look of disbelief and reluctance clear on her face. “His name is Kris. K-Kris Dreemurr. Catti was </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> sure it was him…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Interesting. Hmm…” he thought for a moment. “What’s this Dreemurr supposed to look like?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I can’t say what he looks like now, b-but back in school he had sort of olive skin, long brown hair, kinda went over his eyes, and his eyes were weird, too.. He had… red eyes… big red eyes… a-and he was always short for his age, too!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grant adjusted his specs before speaking. “Sounds like the ‘kid’ Catrick described, you know, ‘specially the eyes part. Just saying, it’s uh, it doesn’t seem like a coincidence.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right. Hey, good job, Holiday." He momentarily turned his attention to the cat splayed out on his couch in bemusement. "What's the deal with her?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ah! She said she didn't feel well after we came back- oh, she's waking back up!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catti rubbed her eyes and sat up straight on the couch, groaning. "Uugghh.. oh… are you guys the bounty hunters…? Where's Catrick?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yes ma'am. He's upstairs finishing the paperwork." Said Clyde.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh. If that's the case I've got a request…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"A request, huh? Heh. Shoot."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I wanna come with you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The whole room fell silent. Noelle looked between Blackburn and Catti to gauge their reactions.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You what?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I guess Noelle told you about Kris.. well, I feel like I need to sorta reconnect my, like, past, and stuff. I also kinda wanna get away from Catrick for a while too…  I dunno. I won't get in your way or anything."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey, if you wanna go, maybe I should too! Maybe we could.. b-bargain with Kris somehow!" Noelle interjected.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Now wait a damn minute," Clyde exclaimed. "who said I'm letting two women tag along while we hunt fugitives!?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now taken with the idea of meeting a dear old friend and possible adventure, Noelle hatched a small plot. Keeping in mind his reaction to tenderness that morning, she inched closer to her boss. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You know, that's a big gun. M-Maybe… you could protect me with it while I keep you company?" Never the flirtatious type, she hoped it worked as she practically purred to him, using her best "doe" eyes on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clyde was left speechless at her advances. He peered at her, but she looked so adorable that his willpower had eroded at a blazing pace. The other two as well didn't seem to mind a bit themselves, Doggo especially smiling compared to his usual apathy and silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>".. Company, huh?" The boss rubbed his chin and subconsciously placed his other hand on the gun at his hip. Her comment made him prouder to own it still. "Well, I suppose there's room in the van for you two. Stay out of our way, though. And don't start bitching either."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Great! But what about Bruce and Tesco..?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Probably dead."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh…" The mood was immediately downcast by Clyde's comment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't worry about it. If they ever do show up, Miss Harris here will notify them on our whereabouts. Catrick too. Isn't that right, Miss Harris?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Having not been paying attention to the conversation in front of her, Miss Harris looked up from her sixth magazine of the day and gave a quick "Of course Mr. Blackburn."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Good. Anyway, we've wasted enough time here. Have you ladies got anything you can't live without before we go?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catti shook her head while Noelle grabbed her purse from behind the reception desk. After that, it was out the door with eager hearts, leaving behind Catrick, who had slowed down significantly in signing his papers, and Miss Harris, who continued to read her women's health magazine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The search had begun…</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>https://youtu.be/efLcgUQmyT8</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Fierce Good Fight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Life at Fort Arrowhead, and indeed Susie herself, is disturbed by a visiting general.</p><p>Stinkin_Thinkin.... you're real good son. Maybe even the best</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Fort Arrowhead, less than a mile away from Canton City, was more like a small outpost than what its name would imply. It was built only 3 years ago and was sturdy enough, but its grey, rigid architecture conjured thoughts of prison. Indeed, the soldiers there were essentially glued to it, being required to be present at either Arrowhead or Canton itself with any excursion into the darklands being met with severe punishment. Though the base consisted of just a few buildings, it wasn't small by any means. The main complex housed the barracks for men and women, mess hall, gym, various medical offices, dry cleaning, and a chapel. To its left was the commissary, which only stocked the basics, but was nevertheless cheaper than the civilian stores. Behind it was a storage building and garage. To the right of the main building was a smaller, more comfortable dormitory for the higher ranking officers, which they typically chose over the gang infested apartments and steeply priced condos. Some, of course, were actually required to live in the thick of it. Den Mother, as well as all the full time Phalanx "police", bore the burden of frequent skirmishes with gangs, junkies, and general filth of a big city, all of which was amplified tenfold by the state of the world. Lastly were the training grounds, a little ways south of everything else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arrowhead had its perks too, of course. Basic pay was decent, it was easy to make friends, and it felt a hell of a lot safer than a camp set up in the middle of the darklands. More importantly, travel between the base and Canton was fairly lax. Though living there was a different story, brief trips proved entertaining, with enough to do so long as you avoided certain places at night. One only needed to show their ID to the guards, given you were assigned to go there or your shift ended, and you'd be off. Susie and many others used this opportunity to hang out at Jimmy's Place, or any bar for that matter, among other things. The "no drinking in uniform" rule had since gone by the wayside as long as you didn't get completely hammered, and if you did, Angel help you. Luckily for Susie, she got back on time and was able to sleep it off before her superiors noticed. Unluckily, by the time she woke up, she already felt the shakes, an unpleasant start to her day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a groan, she got up and straightened the bunk to the best of her abilities before heading to the washroom to moisturize her scales and brush her teeth. Her roommate, Summer, an ice elemental, was already up and polishing her arms and face with a rag and ice cold water. A very faint chill could be felt in her proximity, which matched her mostly featureless visage where no emotion could be gleamed. In general, she kept to herself, and the two roommates only shared words as necessary. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Morning," Summer sighed in a pleasant if forgettable voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Morning," Susie grumbled in response. She stretched and tried to mask the ache she felt before Summer made room for her. The first order of business was her teeth. It was a miracle the things didn't rot out of her head when she was a teenager, even with the effort she put into taking care of them after she hooked up with Kris. The drill sergeant was quick to point it out, saying he could "mine gold in that mouth of yours". Thereafter they made a full and fast recovery. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After rinsing her mouth, it was time to soften up the scales around her joints with a special lotion. It was recommended she do so once a week, preferably in the middle. As her scales dried and hardened, they provided natural armor, but on the flipside, became stiffer than was ideal, which in turn somewhat limited movement. Completely negligible in civilian life, but important in the ultimate goal of adapting and optimizing the body. Thus, the routine prescribed to her and other scaled soldiers by the doctor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If she was honest with herself, Susie was in the best shape of her life. Before the incident she had a thick layer of pudge hidden under baggy clothes. After, she had become so skinny everything was baggy on her, resembling a walking corpse more than a mighty dragon. Though the training was extreme and seemingly cruel, it made her strong again, maybe stronger than she had ever been or even thought she could be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After she finished her routine it was time for her and Summer to get in uniform and line up outside of their dorm. Right on time, the other girls lined up as well in groups of two and three per room. They all knew what time to be up, and they knew what would happen if even one of them was caught slacking. Like clockwork, First Class Sergeant Anders turned the corner, taking a cursory glance at everyone before speaking. "ATTEEEEENTION!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everyone stood up straight as the short but stocky human lady went by and inspected each room briefly for any error. It was a weekly occurrence and was the only time you ever really got yelled at anymore. Each time she would come out and bid that dorm's girls be at ease. This was the case for every single one… until it was Susie's turn. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Private Cindersson… c'mere." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Those words formed a lump in Susie's throat. Anders saying your name during inspection never boded well. Even more so when you were shivering, dealing with a splitting headache, and holding down vomit all while trying to keep bearing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Coming sergeant."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anders, upon seeing Susie in such a fine state, flashed a red hot glare at her before letting her know how she felt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What is this?" She pointed at Susie's bunk. It wasn't at all put together well; the sheets were wrinkled and untucked and the pillow somehow had made it to the top-right instead of the top-middle. Still, the aching dragoness replied bluntly and awaited her imminent demise. "It's a bunk, sergeant."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Bunk? THIS IS A STY! Haven't we taught you mommy isn't making your bed anymore? Fix this shit then BEAT YOURSELF! And don't waste my fucking time. We have a drill at 0600 sharp!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yes, Susie's day was to be wonderful from then on.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Gelto woke up just as he did every day. The rather spacious office was pitch black but his eyes easily adjusted, and before the alarm could go off he smashed the clock beside him with a beefy paw and stretched, preparing himself for the day ahead. He had one last batch of soldiers to bring on the patrol exercise before he ran out of bodies fresh out of basic to choose from. That would wait until after breakfast, around 6:30, which was two hours from now. It gave him plenty of time to sit around and wait for a phone call or a visit from one of his officers about a squad acting up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gelto got up</span>
  <span> and flipped on the light switch next to his bed, illuminating the entire office. On the walls were decorations and portraits of historical men of the military, all human. Above his bed was an officer's sabre perched on a red mount, his own name printed on a gold plate beneath it. Further in there was a kitchen and bathroom past his meeting room, hidden behind an innocuous tan door. All in all, it was probably the largest living space in the entirety of Arrowhead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he got ready he stepped in front of the full mirror in his bathroom and examined his body. A month away from the gym had resulted in a canyon between his pants and the bottom of his undershirt that revealed a sliver of furry gut. Gelto noted it, reminding himself to pay a visit to Instructor Keyes before brushing his teeth and straightening his fur. He dressed himself in a standard army uniform for the patrol exercise, which he did to appear more like the soldiers he was to be guiding soon, before heading to his kitchen and pouring a bowl of his favorite sugary cereal (a diet could wait for a day). </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gelto's job as base commander wasn't easy but it wasn't the hardest either. It certainly beat his days as a rifleman on the frontlines of the Everon Conflict. He was being paid a hell of a lot more too. However, the exhilaration was something sorely missed. The main purpose of Arrowhead was to serve as a bulwark against an opportunistic enemy that eyed Canton as a prize, and as it turned out bandits weren't the most cooperative or united group out there and enemy nations were just as fit as America to engage in coups and invasions, that is to say, not fit at all. Most nations, in fact, were worse off, having been consumed by darkness and anarchy. They say many places in Europe had been completely decimated by the tremors and the creatures that grazed the land. But that was neither here nor there. In either case, there was naught to do but give the occasional order, fill out paperwork, decide who to stay in the fort and who to get sent into the city as Phalanx.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gelto polished off his cereal then sat the bowl in the kitchen among a few other dishes that were waiting to be washed. He was about to sit at his desk and listen to the radio before the phone rang. He shook himself to full awareness before answering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You've reached Fort Arrowhead. This is Papa Bear speaking."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A familiar, gravely voice answered back. "Hello Colonel. Lovely weather this week, isn't it?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gelto's snout hung mid yawn as he realized who was on the other end of the line. There was a moment before he continued as he collected himself. "General Kirk. Good morning."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Morning, Gelto. I haven't got much time at the moment, but there is an issue I'd like to discuss with your company later."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I… what issue, sir?" The brown bear was almost dumbfounded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"An issue of national security, Colonel, an issue that's right at your doorstep. I regret not giving you more notice beforehand. Clear mess for an audience. I'd have my presentation outside, but there's a chance of heavy rain. If you've got anything planned after 1200 hours, can it. Am I clear?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Uh. Yes sir. Anything else, sir?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That'll be all Colonel. I look forward to seeing you and your company this afternoon."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"As do I sir." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With that there was a click and a tone. Gelto sat and pondered for a moment what to do next. After breakfast he'd pull the recruits that would have gone on the patrol  aside to make the mess hall ready, and afterwards there would be an announcement of Kirk's arrival. A night drill was planned; he'd reschedule it as the General said. For now, that was the plan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From his limited meetings with him and hearsay from peers, Gelto had gathered that the General was something of an eccentric. Though it hardly seemed the case in a normal conversation or indeed over the phone, it seemed he had a taste for showmanship. What this resulted in were speeches turned parties, complete with music and refreshments and, when he went off script, a strange demeanor for a man of his rank. He was also known, as his friend Lieutenant Garland said, for infantilizing his audience, though he didn't elaborate exactly on what that meant. It was unknown to the brown bear whether such things were true or just rumors born out of the current boredom of military life in the darklands. Either way, it wasn't every day important people visited this base.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gelto would get into his proper uniform after this change of plans, but first he had a few calls to make… </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Morning drills no longer tired Susie. In fact, they just served to wake her up more. It was always what came after, the long and boring duties, that made her sleepy again. It wasn't until the sun shined that she found herself adequately awake and aware, and that time was slowly but surely taking longer to get to. The sun at one time came up around 7:00, yet that time had crept up to 8:00, and these days had made it until just about 9:00. Sunlight hours were diminishing at an astonishing rate, and for some, thinking of it brought them to a panic. Was it to be an eternal night in just a few years? In some places, such as the south, it had already come to that. Reports said that there was an average of about three hours of sunlight in Texas and a few bordering states. Yet Susie and even the Corps at large were taught to accept it, even embrace it. If the sun never rose again, so be it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was one feeling the encroaching night brought her that Susie couldn't simply shake off, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Guilt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She couldn't be sure if her adventure in the Dark World was real anymore. The story certainly couldn't be told to just anyone. They'd probably refer her to a psychiatrist, which was something to be avoided if you could help it. Even if that weren't the case, nobody would believe her anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So the memory became a fleeting daydream. Thoughts of a dear friend, a mysterious prince, insurmountable foes… the names had escaped her, but the images were clear in her head. Kris was with her, too. It was a fantasy, a fantasy she created to be with him again in a world with hope. Then again, the guilt remained. The guilt of failure. She had failed everyone in the entire world. Susie distinctly remembered being nearly struck down, and in her most vulnerable moment, took hold of Kris's hand and ran, no particular direction in mind. Fear had gripped her heart like it never had before… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She could remember waking up clutching a sleeping Kris tightly in her arms afterwards, quickly letting go of him in a panic. The boy opened his eyes then, confused. The two had found themselves in the old kindergarten room. They got up silently and left, but just as they were about to go their separate ways for the day, Susie stopped her soon to be lover. "Let's go back there tomorrow, alright?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They never could, no matter how hard they tried. And the prophecy would be broken. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a strange end to a fantasy. And still, she couldn't be sure that's all it was. In the back of her mind, she remembered the young prince's prophecy, if it were indeed real, had come to pass. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yo. Sooz."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A man with a broader build than his sharp, bookish face would imply had sat down across from her with a breakfast sandwich and tater tots. It was Ritchie. "You gonna eat that?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Susie broke out of her daydream and looked at her friend then her own platter: more of the same stuff. As her hangover subsided she had grown ravenous. She smiled and said, "No. I mean, yes, I'm gonna eat it, and no, you can't have it, punk."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook his head and took a bite of his sandwich, speaking with his mouth full. "Yeah whatever. Needa watch whatcha eat around here anyhow." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Got that right." Susie chomped off half of her own sandwich with a couple of tater tots for good measure. A few more soldiers were marching into mess now after they got a good licking from their sergeant, filling the place out nicely. In another bite she finished the sandwich off and continued speaking. "You've been a stranger, Ritchie." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He exhaled and rubbed his brow, leaning in. "I know. Remember Spinster? Private Spinster?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Susie knew he was Ritchie's roommate, but never met the fellow. "Go on…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ya know what the fucker did? He smuggled </span>
  <em>
    <span>blow </span>
  </em>
  <span>into the base and got caught bumping a line in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>latrine!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" He grimaced recounting the tale before taking another bite of his sandwich. "Sergeant Thomas killed the whole squad all night, then the squad leader killed us. Thought this shit would be over after basic, man. Fuckin hell. Yeah, he's probably getting discharged and I'm basically grounded. Sheesh." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Really? Screw that guy. But uh- how long are you gonna be in the can?" Susie started stuffing her face with the remaining tater tots while Ritchie answered her question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Can't leave the premises for about a week. They've already started giving us a hard time, at least for me, cuz an officer ordered me to cut the grass with scissors this morning. Sorta 'don't let it happen again' type of thing."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Damn." The last of the taters were devoured by Susie as she listened to Ritchie's tale. "I'll be sure to say a toast or something for your return next time."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, yeah. But enough about me. Whadyaknow, Sooz?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Not much." Her thoughts drifted back to her acquaintance from Jimmy's. "Not really caught up at the moment. Met an old friend last night though."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah? Who?" Ritchie listened with a renewed interest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Just a guy I knew from back home. Relative of a friend actually. His name was Asriel." Susie had never told Ritchie about her relationship with Kris. In fact, she never told anyone; a burning desire to see him again had left her unable to without some outpouring of emotion, which in itself brought her shame. It didn't feel normal to be so hung up on a high school lover, yet she was, and no one ever made her feel the same way that boy did…  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took a bite of the sandwich and mumbled with his mouth full again. "Shounds like a monshter name. Boyfriend?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"… dude, no." Susie gave him a glare that said 'drop it'. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Given some pause, Ritchie started again with a nervous chuckle. "Uhhh, oookay. Touchy topic. Sorry."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's fine." Susie returned to her normal demeanor then. "What do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>know, Ritch?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a moment, he questioned the sudden shift in the atmosphere, but decided it was best to ignore. "What do I know? Well I've heard some interesting things actually. There was a big shootout between our boys and a gang yesterday. Wasn't so long after you 'n the colonel left the Cuddlebug, actually. I bet they didn't tell you guys about it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"A shootout!? Where at?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"At the Silvers Building way in the slums. Phalanx sent some guys in like SWAT and they cleared the place out. Dunno why they don't do it more often." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Say less. Too many punks and degenerates in town. Just kill em all." She didn't know why, but Susie felt a ping of regret saying such things, though she couldn't pinpoint why. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oorah. They ought to let me take Betty out for a night drive…" Betty was his SAW, the one he had trekked across the country with before getting transferred here. It was funny to imagine him in his birth control glasses gunning down bandits and all other manner of villain, but he did, and had actually racked up a bodycount during his time on the "frontlines". Since then the darklands had simmered down, and the amount of men actively searching and destroying the scum out there had been cut in half, mostly replaced with mercenaries and other private agencies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Anyhow, in other news they found a dead guy near the city limits. Really dead guy."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"A dead person. And that's news how?" Susie had been watching the clock and it was just about time to wrap up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He was one of our's, Sooz. And the way they found him… well, it wasn't just some guy that could've done it. Or any fuckin animal for that matter." His formerly chilled expression had turned to slight worry. It proved to be contagious as sinister thoughts of </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span> began to overwrite the still swirling memories of Susie's past.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Are you saying-" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Eh… nevermind. Shouldn't have brought it up. Bad memories. Y'know?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Susie did know. She knew better than most. During her time as a wanderer she'd stumbled upon one of those </span>
  <em>
    <span>things</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a derelict neighborhood that was too far gone to be restored. Desperate for food, she broke into one of the houses after she was sure nobody was home. There, in the living room, was that… whatever they were. Its limbs stretched and twisted unnaturally, and in an instant it pounced. It was by the skin of her teeth that she made it out of that house alive, which by the grace of providence, was the beginning of the end to her life as a nomad.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Shit, man, I-" just as the monster girl began to utter a response breakfast had come to an end, as announced by the officer presiding over the mess hall that morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ritchie scarfed down his sandwich before getting up. "Gotta go. Aye, uh, nice talkin to ya."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You too, punk." She sighed and followed suit. Even if she managed to recover from her hangover, it was going to be a long day today.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And mess is all clear?" Gelto had radioed one of the officers at breakfast that morning. As he made the call, the bear monster was accompanied by several of his underlings, the ones meant to go on patrol with him today.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A feminine voice crackled through. "Yes sir. The last man left a couple minutes ago.  Over."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Good. Stick around, lieutenant, you're helping. Over and out."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh… fine, whatever- wait, I mean, roger that!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Colonel rolled his eyes and ignored the lieutenants slip up. She'd get her comeuppance from another of her superiors; for now, he signalled his underlings to follow. Upon arrival, they were greeted with the ruckus of the kitchen staff washing dishes, and in the middle of the hall stood the Lieutenant, a youthful, slender deer monster. She didn't seem particularly the experienced type; it was likely the girl got her rank through candidate school. She saluted Gelto and said, "Lieutenant Faun reporting for duty, sir." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"At ease, Faun." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She put her hand down and remained steadfast in her position, awaiting further instruction praying to the Angel he didn't mention her unprofessional words over the radio. Faun and the recruits hadn't a clue what Gelto wanted with them, yet were certain it'd probably beat patrol or any other routine chore they'd typically find themselves doing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm sure you're all wondering what exactly we're doing here. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure myself…" He stopped for a moment to assess the situation. "It's the General. General Kirk is visiting Fort Arrowhead, although he didn't entirely elaborate on why. In any case, he's speaking here today, and if we don't do a good job none of you are leaving the fort's walls for a year, understood?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A unanimous "Yes sir" filled the room. After a few seconds, Gelto began directing his subordinates about. The tables would be stuffed in the back of the kitchen, the chairs stacked and put against the wall, unsure if they would be in use or not. Any untended or otherwise hidden dust, muck, grime, and mold was swiftly cleansed. Just as the last soldier finished his task, the Colonel got another buzz from his radio. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Papa Bear," said a nasally voice, one belonging to the Colonel's secretary, Jennings. "The General was on the line earlier, said he figured you were busy so he told me to relay his message and stuff. Said he wanted a, uh, charcuterie board for his arrival, sir. A big 'un, he said."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... Charcuterie?" This meeting was getting stranger by the minute.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yes sir."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ok. Roger that, Jennings. If he calls back, let him know it'll be done. Over and out."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gelto rubbed his brow and let forth a deep sigh. He hoped it wasn't true, but he sensed a trend was about to emerge. Something would get done, then Kirk would call yet again requesting some other pleasantry, and so on and so forth until he arrived proper. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the lieutenant and recruits stood by for the Colonel's next orders, Gelto went to the kitchen staff for anyone who might have a clue how to put something like a charcuterie board together, at least in a way that was fit for a General. Such an odd request garnered shrugs. If they had to do it, they would, even if none of them were adept in the "garde manger" field. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gelto, hoping his work was done, dismissed his soldiers to their designated stations. After a brief period of silence, he remembered the reason such a meeting was happening in the first place. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"An issue of national security, huh?" He murmured to himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He checked the time: 7:45. It was just about time to make the announcement… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Susie and her squad were assigned to maintenance that day, picking up shells off the shooting range from yesterday's drill. It wasn't the worst job she could have gotten, but being outside in the morning served as a grim reminder of the dwindling daytime. It was already around 8:00 A.M. and the sun had just begun to peak over the horizon. She was used to it, everyone was used to it, and if they weren't they'd get referred to the psychiatrist and, with a bit of bureaucracy, discharged. After that, you fended for yourself in an increasingly dire economy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Half a trash bag of spent casings later the intercom beeped, much to everyone's surprise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Attention: All personnel are to report to their respective wings at 1000 hours. Further instruction will be provided by a designated NCO. Repeat, all personnel are to report to their wing at 1000 hours." </span>
  <em>
    <span>Click.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a soft murmur amongst Susie's squadmates, theorizing what the announcement might entail. An inspection of some sort? Maybe it had something to do with what that Spinster guy did. No matter what, though, it couldn't be anything good.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Susie continued to scoop up shells even as her teammates had stopped for a chat. There was still enough brass lying around for another hour or so worth of work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A convoy of jeeps and APCs flanking an armored motorcade cut through the streets of Canton, garnering the attention of curious passersby on the streets. Just an hour before a security detail run by Phalanx was established at the request of its occupants, General Austane Kirk and his bodyguards. The route was a short one, but the General was well aware of the military's reputation amongst the populace as well as the city's reputation for housing miscreants of all kinds, and was not the type of man to take unnecessary risks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kirk, overtaken by boredom, rested his eyes for a moment, and it seemed in just the next he awoke to the guard at the gate calling his name. "General Kirk, sir?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes fluttered open as he straightened his posture to meet the guard. "Ah, yes. And you are..?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"O-oh! Private Connelly, First Class. It's an honor to have you sir. Just clearing all the vehicles. You and your driver can go on ahead."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Of course. And thank you, Private."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The convoy parked one next to the other beside the officer's dorms. The motorcade's driver, a blue wisp, brusquely opened the General's door, at which he got out and straightened his tie. Kirk was an older man, just shy of sixty, though a lack of extensive wrinkles did not betray such age. His head was shaved bare as his hair had gotten too thin for his taste, and with a recent addition of an eyepatch across his left eye, some had assigned him a bit of a villainous mien.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The General and his entourage made their way to the main building when through its iron doors came Colonel Gelto to meet them, accompanied by two other officers, Faun and a human by the name of Art. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Papa Bear flashed a reserved, respectful smile as his subordinates gazed at Kirk in awe, silently saluting the esteemed guest. "General Kirk! It's good to finally meet in person after all this time. My company has been awaiting your arrival for over an hour now."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"In good spirits I hope?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yes sir! Very good spirits- although it may be the lack of chores more than anything else."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'd expect nothing less, Colonel. And the refreshments?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"All in order."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The refreshments in question were the charcuterie, a great platter put together by the kitchen staff with the help of a local deli alongside an assortment of non-alcoholic beverages. The venture had felt more like a birthday party than any serious meeting or speech though it never crossed Gelto’s mind to protest any of the General’s decisions. What he said went.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good. I suppose now is as good as time as any to go see the gentlemen.” Kirk removed his cap for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow before looking to the heavens; the faintest hint of storm clouds were beginning to form.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once inside there was a ways to go until they reached the mess hall, which prompted Gelto to initiate some conversation to break the awkward atmosphere. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So… General Kirk, what do you think of our humble Fort Arrowhead?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he strode along with his bodyguards he took in his surroundings. “Boring as shit. But, it’ll do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... Thank you sir.” Gelto resigned himself to silence until the General spoke again, changing the subject.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, I remember you, Colonel. We met at that ball, yes, but I was on Everon as well. I reckon you remember Everon?” His serious expression became lighter, if a bit nostalgic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The memories came flooding in. Memories of combat, mostly, but also the downtime he shared with his buddies, most of whom never made it back home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We met there, sir?” Gelto asked in a quiet tone. His voice was that of lowly private again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Colonel, we did, though not all that directly. My own unit briefly brushed paths with yours. I believe the one in charge then was Captain Clyborne.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clyborne. He was tough. Everyone looked up to him like the father they never had, Gelto included. He wondered where the old chap was now… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You could say you popped out. Being an officer myself, I had an eye for such things.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I remember. I… I didn’t know that was you at the time.” Gelto had been put into a trance, envisioning an increasingly murky past.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t blame you. Time makes us all unrecognizable in a lot of ways. For example, I had two eyes instead of one, and you were about a hundred pounds lighter than you are now!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kirk smiled and broke into laughter then, nudging the Colonel on his side. He broke out of his trance and cracked a smile himself, not expecting the General’s sudden shift in demeanor. It also brought attention to his own frame for just a moment, though he quickly shook it off when he realized they were right in front of the doors to the mess hall. Through the glass windows one could see all the soldiers sojourning about in their chairs, sitting neatly beside one another chatting and generally killing time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, like I said, they’re probably going to preach to us about drug use.” Ritchie said as he sat facing the wrong way in his chair before Susie, who leaned back to relax from hours of shell scooping. His sleeves were rolled up exposing hairy arms folded over the backrest, making the occasional grand hand gesture typical of him. “I know this cuz they done the same shit with hygiene at an outpost cuz, uh, a bunch of guys stunk real bad. Made a big deal outta it and everything. Pretty friggin embarrassing.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Susie couldn’t help but shake her head. “You sure the stinker wasn’t just you, punk? All that brain matter leaking out of your ears is bound to stink to high hell.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ritchie chuckled and with an annoyed smirk. “Bitch-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just then the doors were swung open to reveal the Colonel, first and foremost, alongside a girl Susie had forgotten the name of and First Class Sergeant Art. Behind them were many unfamiliar faces, men in unfamiliar uniforms with rifles slung over their shoulders. As they each marched into the room, they lined up against the wall, standing straight and at attention. They revealed an officer, a very high ranking one, who methodically slipped through, prompting a salute. Gelto told the room to quiet down, though everyone had already been reduced to silence by the General's presence. Ritchie quickly corrected his posture to face the man of the hour.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen." said Kirk. He inhaled and raised an eyebrow. "I hope you're all well today."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no response from the crowd, unsure of what to do other than sit in silent respect. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"In any case, you may be wondering why you've been pulled from your duties to listen to an old fart like me talk for half an hour. Well…" He took one last survey of the crowd before continuing. "Did you know that one in five people haven't got a single recollection of their childhood? One in twelve can hardly remember life at all before the incident. Magical energies out of whack, they say, messing with everybody's minds. What that amounts to is out of the three hundred or so of the men and women sitting before me, about a hundred haven't got much of a past."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His words struck a chord with Susie. Life before Kris was woefully hard recalled. The delinquency and living day to day were more impressions than a solid memory, something that she paid little mind to until now. With a frown she listened further.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"But if there's one thing I'm sure not one of you has forgotten, it's what makes America truly great," he said, pacing now to and fro. "... truly worth fighting for." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stopped briefly and shot a glance back at his audience.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You wouldn't be here otherwise." With that, he continued to pace about.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And that brings me to the topic of the day. Men and women who have forgotten these things. Who have forgone their loyalty to America." Kirk made a point to show visible disgust to the soldiers, drawing out the next word: "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Insurgents.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A wave of shock surged through the crowd. What was once thought to be a scolding on reckless behaviour had quickly turned to the possibility of all out civil war.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"They call themselves the Sons of the New World or SNW. Their motives are entirely transparent: to overthrow the United States government. Now, I wouldn't be talking to you today if they were some ragtag group of commie secessionists no, at that point they'd be no different from any band of cutthroats. Their cause has accrued tens of thousands of sympathizers, probably more by now, with enough gunmen to rival a small army. And their numbers are only growing, absorbing outlaws, rogue contract agencies, and especially your everyday Joe. And these aren't just boys playing pretend, either; several outposts have been overrun, patrols ambushed, soldiers killed. Just six years ago, things like this would never occur. But we're compromised."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The realization for Susie had firmly set in. This was a call to war. Dread washed over her; she'd never truly been in the shit before, never had anyone shooting to destroy her. Hell, she never had anyone shoot at her at all; the most trouble she ever got into was with angry squatters in a ramshackle motel. The dark world, hazy memories of it at least, seemed like child's play in that moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The media has been ordered not to speak on the matter to reduce their influence, the deaths attributed to banditry and other such things. Now there's no containing it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Are we going to war, sir?" A fellow in the front blurted it out for all to hear, which elicited the rise of an eyebrow from General Kirk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yes, son, we are. Men are already mobilizing to prevent SNW's escape into Canada or Mexico and, by God and Angel's will, this conflict will be done by Christmas." He stopped once more, signaling a change in subject.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"They're easily spotted on the field. Though equipment may wildly differ, one thing most of them have in common is </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> insignia." He pulled a patch from his jacket pocket and presented it to his audience: a yellow moon with a bloody stiletto thrust through it, the words "Perdere Malo, Imperitia Perdere" printed below. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We think they originated somewhere down south and have been slowly encircling the midwest over the course of a year. The only thing I regret is that we didn't nip it in the bud as soon as possible, as it seemed like we had bigger problems then…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Moreover, the ones actually funding the movement are unknown at this time. But informants have a leader. A name, anyhow: Micah Anston. It's probably a fake, since running it through our records comes up with limited results, but for now, it doesn't matter. All that matters is that within a month, many of you will be deployed."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A throbbing in Susie's head began to swell. She looked to her peers: some of them went pale, some vainly tried to hide macabre grins.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"If you identify someone as a "New World Boy", you will destroy that man. Otherwise, you will capture him. No mercy is to be afforded these heathens, these traitors once called  'countrymen'!" He balled his fists, his voice raising as he went on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You will crush their hopes, you will dash their dreams, and most of all you will WIN! These animals, they're NOT to be feared. Those who would abandon their country will abandon their comrades in combat." The General brought himself back down, clearing his throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Not all of you will make it back. None of you will make it unscathed. No matter what happens, you'll have secured the rebirth of our nation…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He spoke more, though Susie had lost track of what he was saying. She didn't expect a civil war to be thrust upon her and her peers almost nonchalantly. She distinctly remembered the recruiter telling her that combat was an unlikelihood, that bandit hunting had died down to volunteer work. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Guess I swallowed their bait. Stupid me. Always so fucking stupid…" She thought out loud, just under her breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After some contemplation, Susie found herself once again attentive to the situation at hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"… at 1600 hours. In the meantime, you ought to enjoy yourselves." Kirk leaned over to one of his bodyguards, whispering something to him, who in turn whispered to Gelto. The Colonel nodded and turned his attention to the kitchen, signaling the staff to bring out their prize. At the same time, the soldiers were ordered to rise. Once the oversized platter and carts of pitchers and paper cups were in place, the soldiers lined up while the excessive amount of tin foil was removed, revealing the decadent assortment of meats, cheese, and fruit before them. Everyone grabbed a small paper plate and plastic silverware, given free reign to dig in, though no more than their fair share under threat of "annihilation", at least at the promise of Anders.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm fucked up," Quaked Susie. She and Ricthie sat beside one another once again with their plate of finger food and punch. "I dunno about this man. I just dunno, I mean-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Aye. Listen Sooz. You're gonna be fine, I mean, it's not like we're shippin' out to to Normandy or somethin'." Ritchie chomped on a cracker with cheese and ham before taking a sip of his cherry punch. "Didn't you say you wanted some action anyway?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dragoness picked at her food then leaned back in her chair, sighing deeply. "I'm not sure what I want anymore…"</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Rebel Yell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After an unfortunate turn of events, Asriel finds himself making increasingly irresponsible decisions.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Finally "finished"? It went through a few changes. Just a few different lines to make it read better.<br/>Thank u stinkin</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Canton City had been home to Asriel for only four months. Granted, it was a much longer stay than he expected of himself, but he really thought he'd got stuck in there, yet like always circumstance uprooted him. Mr. Morgan, doubtful he could bounce back from such massive losses, closed The Cuddlebug, thus laying the goat monster off. That was it; no other job worth a damn was left in that city for him, no other source of income to pay his rent. Those apartments wouldn't be missed, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After chucking all of his belongings into his trunk, he spotted Susie, the only remaining connection to his past. He followed her to that bar, curious for her name and maybe, just maybe, the whereabouts of his brother. But alas.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next day it was time to hit the road. It seemed like the road was more of a home than any bumfuck town or poverty-stricken city. He neither fit in nor stuck out wherever he went, and knowing his wandering soul, never went out of his way to make friends. The most consistent variable in his life was desolate fields passing him by as well as quiet, impersonal army patrols on the lookout for bad men. And, of course, his car. Always his car. He first found it abandoned, not long after the FED set people loose. It sat right in the middle of a mall's parking lot. A '98 Accord, just sitting there, gassed up, unlocked. The only imperfection a stench of a fast food meal left behind by occupants long since evacuated. Such a stroke of luck made Asriel believe it a gift from the Angel, a miracle wrought from devotion. It meant so much to him, being so weary from exploring the darklands in worn-out sneakers, he began to clutch his cross and weep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asriel was about an hour or so along when the weather took a turn for the worst. The farther he went on, the clearer it became that this would be no simple drive. With all the rain his windshield wipers couldn't keep up, obscuring his vision. That and a steadily depleting gas tank made him think his best bet was a place he'd visited before, Thurston, a town just a little ways down from the Canton bridge. He'd wait out the storm, fuel up, maybe get a drink. From then on further plans could be made.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asriel slowed as he met Thurston’s entirely vacant streets, the only hint of life consisting of foggy street lights and cold glow coming from the gas station where he pulled in. Assuming he was safe under the station's awning, he stepped out and stretched. Not long after, an especially gelid wind came gushing through and would have knocked the goat onto his ass if the car hadn't borne the brunt of it. Cursing under his breath, he shuffled through the station doors, briefly noting the fellow huddled next to it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hum of fluorescent light almost drowned out the downpour as Asriel entered. A bored-looking crow monster dressed in a greasy blue button-up stood at the register, head resting atop his palm, staring down what was likely one of if not the last customer of the day. "Yo," he murmured. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Howdy." Asriel pulled a twenty out of his wallet and handed it to the cashier. "Pump four. Just regular."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Uh huh. You're just in time. We're almost out. Probably a week til the stiffs come down here and feed us." The crow took the bill and stuffed it into the register. "On your way to Canton?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. "Oh, no, just left. Greener pastures and all that."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You should be so lucky. Have a nice day, sir." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asriel raised an eyebrow at his remark. "Thanks…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as he made his way back to his car, the person loitering beside the entrance called out to Asriel. "A-Aye man… G-Got a light?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asriel turned to face him where he realized the man, a scruffy, pallid human, stood up to meet the goat monster face to face. Despite wanting nothing more than to fill up his tank and skip town he humored the stranger. "Yeah. Here." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With the snap of his fingers, a small magical flame set alight. A pleased smile formed on the stranger's lips as he lit his cig and took a drag. "Freakin' badass… thanks."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asriel nodded. "Hey, don't mention it, pal." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before his acquaintance could leave the stranger spoke again. "So uh, where ya headed?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another icy gust of wind nearly knocked the two off their feet, further accentuating Asriel's desire to move on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Just- Just anywhere, dude."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"… Can I get a ride? Just to the bar, man, just down the road. I-I was waiting out the storm but, ya know, doesn't seem to be lettin' up."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stranger sat in the passenger's seat blowing smoke out of the car window while Asriel filled up his tank. That twenty only got him about four gallons. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The goat stepped back in, clearly disappointed. "Ah.. where were you going again?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, that bar down the road to the left, Shooter's. It's got an 8-ball on the sign and everything. My pals are waiting for me there." He took his last drag of the cigarette and flicked it onto the pavement. "Gotta thank you again, brotha. This weather's killin' me. Tell ya what, I'll buy ya a freakin' drink when we get there! Whadya say?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asriel ran his fingers through damp fur, trying to subside a throbbing pain in his skull. He turned to the stranger, who looked in significantly better spirits, but also noticed a bizarre arm patch stitched to his shoulder; a moon with a knife jabbed through it. Possibly a gang, probably for show. However, a realization set in that he hadn’t thought of throughout this encounter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You know, I never caught your name."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked surprised, but soon after turned back into a grin. "I'm Isaac. Isaac Wall. How about you, brotha?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Asriel. Nice to meet you." His mood was deteriorating fast, though he couldn't pinpoint why. A drink really would hit the spot at the moment. "I guess we ought to get a move on."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The drive to Shooter's was a short and wordless one, the downpour outside never letting up. Just two cars made their roost here, one a white van and next to it a rusty red pickup truck. Asriel parked a few spaces away from them, prompting Isaac to give one last thanks to his driver before rushing out and into the bar. After a moment of preparation, the goat monster followed suit, getting soaked through in the process.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Inside was a warm and familiar interior. He remembered then that he had been here once before, when he last visited Thurston while on the road to Canton. The walls still had carvings from patrons of yore, floors still stained from Angel knows what. The pool tables, where the bar got its namesake, seemed a bit crooked in their formation. Asriel walked over to one, a table where he played with and lost to some past drinking companion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then a quite plastered voice broke his brief reminiscing. “Heeeeeeeeeey… our man uh the hour… Azazel… Asail… Assree… c’mon over here, oh pal o’ mine!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asriel drew his attention to the sputtering drunk. A young, homely human dressed in a bomber jacket that had seen better days, sat reclining and slack jawed at the counter. Around him were his mates. One sitting to his right was an orange-furred monster who’s exact species was hard to make out as his head was buried under his arms, likely passed out. Another, to the human’s right, was a muscle-bound monster that appeared to be a cross between horse and mermaid, mane slicked back like a greaser, hunched over the countertop and barely aware. Lastly was Isaac, who had ordered a shot and slid it to the seat next to him, beckoning Asriel forth. Curiously, as he got closer, he noticed that all of them wore patches similar to Isaac's.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Isaac told me aaaaaaaall aboutcha, pal! Ya know, good people- good people are hardtah come by, real hard! And you! Yoooouu're a good guy for helping ol' Isaac!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah brotha. I'd have probably shriveled up and blown away in that storm, huhuh. Means a lot!" Isaac eyed the shot glass, then back to Asriel, who bore a half-hearted smile. He nodded wordlessly before taking the glass and knocking it back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was funny, before college, he swore he'd never have a drop of the stuff. "You don't want to end up like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mr. Cinderson</span>
  </em>
  <span> do you?" His mother would always warn. She despised drinking and drinkers, even more than one might expect from a devotee like her. Toriel's not infrequent lectures on the perils of alcohol precluded Asriel's involvement in things like that, rejecting offers from his highschool peers, especially guys like Burgerpants, bless his soul. Not only that, he wanted to set an example for his little brother.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>University had a way of breaking such inhibitions. The desire to party, to be cool, to be accepted, it had corroded his pious behavior. It got out of hand… his grades failed… and then the world came crashing down. Not a single moment he wasn't piss drunk, then. Scavenged from half-sunken buildings, traded for tins of food and bottles of water, looted off corpses and dust piles tucked away in graves no one else may ever find. Eventually, some time before he happened upon his miracle car, he fell through the floor of a ruined library, landing hard in the basement where a loose bookshelf just happened to topple over and pin him to his spot. Asriel screamed and screamed, not from pain, that would come when his buzz wore off. The scenario appeared in his worst nightmares before the world ended, being trapped in a dark and cold place, unable to move even an inch, and what made it all so much worse was that he hadn't so much as a drop to quell the ever growing panic. After a seeming eternity he passed out, and when he came to, he was greeted with a soldier pointing a blindingly bright flashlight uncomfortably close to his face, bookshelf done away with. The military, at the time newly reformed, was doing a sweep of the area. A medic checked his legs- they somehow hadn't suffered a single injury, save for some cut off circulation. The soldiers set him loose after that. They didn't have time for wanderers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asriel, after that moment, swore once again he'd never have another drop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now he's here, shooting the shit with drunks, getting fairly tipsy himself. The promise he made to himself had slipped away, wanting to forget and to have fun. Isaac never stopped getting Asriel drinks, forgoing his own almost entirely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And then I said, HOWDY MOTHERFUCKER I'M THE FUCKING GOD OF HYPERDEATH and I, I done </span>
  <em>
    <span>this..!" </span>
  </em>
  <span>Rather clumsily, the goat summoned a formless cluster of flame, garnering a shout from the bartender and cheers from his new friends, save for the monster still out cold. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He got scared then… ran away…" Asriel's tale of heroism and action was embellished, rather obviously so, but only Isaac picked up on it. He nodded along, not wanting to break up a good time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The further he went on, the less lucid he began to feel. Asriel tried to tell another story and to listen to some of their own, but as the drinks kept coming he felt all inhibition and sense steadily flow out of his mouth and onto the countertop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, in the blink of an eye, he found himself in the back of a van. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a groan he sat up from his slouched position and rubbed his eyes. Across from him was Isaac, sound asleep and rocking slightly from the bumpy road. With his jacket unzipped, one could see the huge dagger sheathed on his right hip, hand subconsciously resting on its hilt. The sun shone through the back door's windows, and it was clearly at least morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asriel tried to recall what had happened last night that might have led to his current predicament to no avail. He hadn't blacked out like that since college. Still, as he thought, an anxiety washed over him, the “fear” as some of his former colleagues referred to it, that he got up to something embarrassing, shoulder to shoulder with a mouth as dry as cotton and a slow throb in his cranium. Sensing the goat's stirring, someone in the front seat spoke to him. "Mornin' lad. Got your beauty rest?" The voice had a distinct Irish brogue, one the goat didn't recognize. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Uh… where am I?" His nerves were shot, and his current predicament brought little comfort.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"A van."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I mean, where are we going?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Home. Johnny was blattered, so he asked me to take you boys back to base. Johnny, too drunk to drive, fancy that!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wait."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back to base? The thoughts scattered in Asriel's brain. Did he join a </span>
  <em>
    <span>gang </span>
  </em>
  <span>or some other nonsense on accident? He fought back the urge to panic. This was all a misunderstanding.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I, uhm, I think there's been a mistake- I'm not one of you guys. I was sort of hanging out with some of you at the bar, but I'm not really one of you. I'm sorry."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The driver was silent for a moment, then sighed. "Ahhhh, the fear's got you, doesn't it? Can't remember a lick of last night I wager. Well, Johnny had you all in the rain singing praises for the Sons! Haha!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Sons?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So… where are we going again?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We're droppin' you off, seein' you've had second thoughts. Unless?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I-I don't know. I mean, I don't want to join any… gangs… no offense."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a second, the driver turned his attention from the road to his passenger, and a sliver of his face could be made out, though not enough to make judgements. His tone became more grave than before. "You ought to know we're no </span>
  <em>
    <span>gang</span>
  </em>
  <span>, lad." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another moment of silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We're a movement. A big one. I suppose you've heard of us, eh?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... Not really."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yea, yea. Well, the whole country will know us soon. Whole world too, if we're lucky! Haha. Anyhow, they call us the Sons, Sons o' the New World. We’re makin’ shit happen."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asriel eased up a bit knowing that, at least as far as he knew, he wasn't in the hands of cutthroats. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sounds sort of, uh, revolutionary, I guess you could say."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The driver chuckled, amused by his passenger's remark. "You could say that. By the by, if you've an interest in turning back, you ought to let me know about now. Never know who’s a blabbermouth and who ain’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asriel thought for a moment. It wasn't like he had much to lose. Besides, belonging to something bigger than himself sounded… appealing. So much so it beat out all his current anxieties, even if to a less addled mind it would have seemed a little irrational. So, in a moment of recklessness, he bit the bullet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You know what? I think I'll go with you, I mean, what could go wrong?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Cheers! I knew ya'd see it our way, lad. By the way, what's your name? You and Johnny never gave me one."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Asriel Dreemurr! And what about you?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Canlen, but everyone calls me Heart." He turned to face his passenger once more, this time revealing more of him: a human of a slightly tanned complexion, with strawberry blonde hair done up in an old-fashioned comb over. Asriel was drawn to his eyes, Hazel eyes that seemed to stare right through you even in good spirits. "Nice to meet ya!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Nice to meet you…" Apprehension had not left Asriel just yet, though it couldn't quell the childlike excitement in his heart. He wondered what was said last night that got him invested in the first place, even if it didn't really matter now. Then something else came to him. “I- My car, I have a car, where’s my car!?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Car?” Heart thought for a moment. “Oh, that old banger they put Chester in? Right behind us the whole time. You were passed out so Isaac told em to haul it for you. Good ol Isaac!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asriel breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed this bunch were good, or at least as good as it gets in the darklands. Just as well, that name sounded familiar. Chester… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soon after, the light from the back window dimmed. At some point they had pulled onto a dirt road in the middle of a forest where the ride took a bumpier turn, even more so than the rarely serviced highway. Being jostled around, Isaac finally awoke from his slumber a bit dazed. "Uhh…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Speak o’ the devil. Feelin’ good, boyo?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Never better,” said Isaac. The hungover human shifted to a more comfortable position for himself, groaning all the while. He must have snuck in a few drinks for himself as the night progressed. “Oh, hey Asriel- urgh, forgot you were with us, brotha… thanks again… and uh, welcome…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asriel smiled then nodded before responding. “Howdy. And don’t mention it, that short drive was the least I could do.” It took him a moment to register the idea of inquiring about the going ons of the previous night. “Hey, uh, do you remember what we got up to last night? Sort of blacked out, heh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sure, I remember… a little bit, but, you know, enough I guess… you took me back to the bar, and like, we all started talking, and you were like ‘who are you guys anyway’, and Johnny was like, we’re warriors… and a bunch of stuff happened and like, you and Chester freaking </span>
  <em>
    <span>kissed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, psh...“ Even through the goat’s fluff, one could tell that he’d gone plum red. Isaac laughed weakly before following up. “Not really…! But you two got, uh, kinda close… Not to judge! Seemed like, you know, had a history or something…  uurrgh, my freaking head, it’s just getting worse…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Noticing his friend’s abject misery, Heart spoke once again. “Angel above, man, you sound as sick as a plane to Lourdes- we’re almost home, I’ll whip up a wee champagne pick-me-up, eh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I even </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> of  another drop of alcohol I’m gonna hurl…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soon, the van came to a creeping halt over asphalt. As Heart took the key from the ignition he threw a hand up to an unseen greeter and stepped out the door, prompting the two passengers to follow suit. Slinking out of the van and bearing the brunt of sunlight, even filtered through towering pines, made Asriel cringe and rub his eyes. One could overhear what the other fellows were saying, one, a woman, questioning why Johnny and all the others hadn’t shown up with them, and Heart explaining that he had elected to stick around Thurston a little while longer. However, his attention was quickly diverted when he was met with the comforting sight of his Accord pulling into the driveway just a bit later than they had. And, stepping out of his car, a doubly nostalgic and surprising figure emerged; one of his best friends in highschool, one he hadn’t ever expected to see again, Burgerpants! …or, as the memories came back to him, Chester Deirdreo.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>They had all settled into the “base”, an abandoned ranger station or something like that. The place was small, old, and smelled like a basement with rotting walls and creaking floorboards to match. The ceiling had even collapsed in the restroom, leading to the rebels relieving themselves in a creek running behind the building. Nevertheless there were many people around, more than Asriel anticipated, all wearing their telltale arm patch with pride, helping each other and making a living. Besides, as Chester assured, the living arrangements were temporary. They would head to the "frontlines" as soon as "something" was finished in Thurston, although where and what exactly those were wasn't dwelled upon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Long time no see, bro." said Burgerpants. The duo had sat down at the makeshift dinner hall situated in what was once a breakroom. They sat at a round table, one of several, just as decrepit as the rest of the place. "So you don't remember what we got up to last time, huh?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t. But Isaac told me…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry. We didn’t do any gay shit. Well, somebody might've thought it was gay, but that’s besides the point. It’s intent that matters.” The cat seemed out of it, though not in a bad mood, a grin clear on his face as they spoke. The tuft of fur on his chin was allowed to grow unchecked since highschool, forming a scraggly mane he wore with pride. “I mean, what’s wrong with giving homies you haven’t seen in forever some luv? Nothing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asriel still didn't feel comfortable in this new environment. His demeanor had subconsciously become defensive, huddling up against himself.  "That's true I guess. It has been a long time… To be honest, doing what I did these past five years, I think I was starting to lose myself. I was sorta… empty. But seeing familiar faces feels really good." He paused, exhaling deeply and sitting up straighter in his seat. "I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm glad to see you again. Even in weird circumstances like these…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I get what you're putting down." Burgerpants, Asriel noticed, seemed less offbeat than before, missing that almost unpredictable countenance from his youth. "And I'm glad too, bro. I thought you died in Ebott. But I'm especially glad you're fighting the good fight!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, the good fight. To be honest, I'm not really sure what the good fight </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I don't know what any of this is."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, we're the good guys. That's why it's called the good fight: we're good and we're fighting. And the bad guys are the sons of bitches in Washington. That's the bad fight right there."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh." The situation really dawned on him then, even if it was clear before, it became more real now. He thought about his life choices leading up to the moment he joined an insurgent fighting force. And for what? To feel alive? Sure! Leaning back in his chair, he said, "I guess I could've figured that out. But what’s-."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The light creak of small and airy footsteps cut the goat short, diverting their attention to it. There was a monster, small, skinny as a stick and snow white, trodding in on all fours with a large pack of frozen chicken tenders on its back. It lifted its head up, which resembled a balloon fit to burst and a simple face that seemed to be doodled on with a marker. "We eating good fo' today boys!!!" it hollered, androgynous and alien, like if someone had applied tremolo to the monster's voice. Behind it, a steady procession of rebels came in with brown bags and thawing packs of TV dinners, dark circles under their eyes from some previous endeavor. The cat stood up from his seat and greeted his comrades before introducing them to Asriel, who had only grown more tense, trying to hide it but still garnering a worried or amused glance from his soon to be compatriots. One of them, a lumbering red oni, even confronted him. “You good?” to which the goat stammered out a half-hearted “Y-Yeah.” He was thankful for his friend, thankful he was nearby, being something familiar to latch onto in unfamiliar times.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They had gone further in after Chester’s warm welcome, into the dimly lit kitchen, and Asriel felt compelled to follow. He was greeted with a whiff of cheap coffee and </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Perched in a vacant cabinet, a small electric lantern illuminated the dingy room where the rebels sat their prizes on the counters, surrounding a makeshift stove that more resembled a meth lab than anything else. He made his leave then, and was greeted by a few more people relaxing around the breakroom than before. Heart and Isaac had joined Chester at his table, so Asriel took the last seat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How’s the lad?” asked the Irishman. He sipped on coffee whilst Isaac stared off into space. Between them sat the bottle of champagne. Pérignon, no less.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asriel eyed the bottle with interest but tore his gaze away to answer. “Eh… could be better.” The headache flared up then after lying docile, resting his head in his hands and rubbing his temple to soothe it. Heart took note.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, I’ve got plenty more bubbly if you’ve in interest in clearin’ up that heap o’ your’s. Isaac’s spick and span after all!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At his name, the previously absent young man perked up. “Oh, yeah, yeah, I feel a lot better. At least, my head isn’t spinning anymore…” frankly, he seemed just as drained as before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asriel gathered his composure to respond. “I-I’ll have to pass… Last night was sort of one off. I don’t usually drink like that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You sure?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure. I’m probably gonna go to hell for how drunk I got last night, eheh..”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If Azzy’s not interested I’d be more than happy to take his share,” exclaimed k. “Champagne for breakfast sounds real fancy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure thing. And you’re positive everything’s craic, Mr. Dreemurr?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, positive." He eyed the bottle once more. He always wanted to try more wine… "Eh, well, actually, fuck it, slide me a glass if you don't mind."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That's the way, lad!" He leaned to his left and unzipped a backpack resting against his chair, grabbing three shot glasses and passing them out, pushing aside his own coffee. "We've a toast to make, y'know." He filled each glass with the bubbly, grinning all the while. "Sorry I haven't any flutes, lads. Heh. Anyhow…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stood and raised his glass, catching the attention of others who had settled in for a bite. "To our ascension over the ashes, and may the devil cut off the toes of our enemies so that we may know them by their limping. Sláinte!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sláinte!" They cried, and they lifted their glasses and drank.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. ♪ ~ I Belong To You ~ ♪</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Prince's gang strikes out once more.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Finished. Thanks again to mr stink</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kris’s tears flowed freely onto Susie’s shoulder as the two locked into a passionate embrace on the shore of Hometown’s lake, just as the sun began to set.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t think I’d ever see you again…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brittle as it may have been, her voice was as sweet as honey to Kris, left with naught a word to respond with besides a low, hoarse sob.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey. It’s alright. I’m here.” He couldn’t stop himself. He gripped her as if he might lose her again. “I’m here…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She ran a gentle hand through the human’s hair, sending a chill down his spine. Susie leaned closer to him, and he could feel the warmth of her breath as she murmured in his ear. “Come find me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With that, she let go, pushing herself away from Kris, disappearing into the fog. Kris set into a panic and tried to give chase, only to find he had gone weak in the legs, buckling and collapsing onto the cold hard ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Groggily, the human awoke from his dream. He rubbed the sleep and tears from his eyes, filling his lungs in the morning air, focusing his thoughts on here and now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a particularly frigid morning, and he thought he would have succumbed to the elements were he without a quilt. After the last raid they packed up to escape the heat, but not before they covered their tracks, as the boss put it. Everything was stuffed into trash bags or secured in a rickety old shopping cart covered in a tarp. Just as they began to move on, The Prince of Rain looked to the skies and ordered a downpour. When he didn’t get immediate results, he cursed the heavens, claiming he’d “come up there” if rain did not fall. They all felt a very light drizzle then and were clear to move on. It only continued to ramp up from there, never stopping until the sun went down. But the boss's command was the strangest thing Kris ever did see, yet the others didn't react, so neither did he. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After seemingly aimless wandering through the downpour, they happened upon a decimated town which had sunken halfway into one of the great fissures from when the disaster began. Most of the buildings had collapsed or seemed too derelict for safe housing, but there was a park nearby with an area for gatherings, sporting a roof and a few benches. They set up camp there and changed into the Canton City clothes, eating turkey sandwiches before falling asleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was some time before noon, as the sun had just begun to creep over the horizon, just barely illuminating the landscape. Kris had hardly paid any mind to the playground equipment the night before, but now he felt transfixed by it. He imagined the joy it must have harbored, children happily playing as parents watched on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Good morning." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Startled, Kris turned to face the voice, finding Gary sitting on one of the benches with a pair of binoculars, watching the forest. All the other bandits, it seemed, still slept. Kris mustered a grunt in response as he threw the quilt off of himself and rose from his cardboard bed, sore and stiff from a night spent on hard concrete. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dream of Hometown lingered on his mind. Kris was sorry to have that dream- sometimes he felt sorry to remember Susie at all. It only brought an overwhelming sense of loss, and it was easier to push away than to face head-on. The dream weighed heavily on him, threatening his composure. He had heard once that one might drain their dreams as he drained his bladder- a theory Kris was eager to test out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The building had a restroom which thankfully hadn’t been bolted shut, opening it with the utmost care as not to let its rusty hinges disturb the others. The door’s creaks echoed from inside, stale air hitting his nostrils, and he felt like he was unsealing an ancient tomb. Hell, the place probably hadn’t seen one visitor since the disaster, so it wasn’t all that far off, he thought. He tried the lightswitch to his left; no dice, of course. So he stepped in. It was difficult to navigate as his eyes had yet to adjust to the darkness, and natural light did little to pierce the musty chamber. Soon enough, he felt his knee hit something hard, cold, and clearly ceramic. Reluctantly, he reached out for it, feeling what he figured to be the lid, lifting it, and immediately feeling </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>crawling up his forearm. Then another, and another…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Paralyzed with fear, Kris couldn't even bring himself to scream. The infernal creatures scurried all over and around him, until he felt several pinches along his forearm, sending the young man shrieking and flailing out of the bathroom. Waking up and seeing this, along with a practical army of ginormous spiders behind him, the gang sprang up as quick as lighting. Gary, Bill, and Ted took panicked flight in all directions, while the boss and Leyland stood their ground. Still halfway covered in a plaid blanket, Leyland produced a lighter and can of hairspray from his trash bag and rushed toward the encroaching arachnids, letting loose a fiery rain of terror… </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Hold still goddammit," Gary held Kris's arm as he washed it down with a bottle of water and soap. The rest of the gang watched as they struggled, Kris flinching at the slightest touch. "This isn't even the worst part, kid, not even close."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everyone who ran off returned soon thereafter. Bill lagged behind the most, emerging from the nearby brush with his head hung low. In return, the Prince let him root around the gang's supplies for any straggling spiders.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"But Mr. Flame- I-I HATE them daggone bugs! What if 'e bites me like 'e did Kris over there?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Gotdamn ya to hell, Bill, you'll do as I tell ya!" He shoved his pleading nephew toward their stash. "Get to it now. Git!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gary chuckled at the commotion then turned his attention back to his patient. He opened a tube of Neosporin and squirted a bit of ointment on his finger, rubbing it onto one of the bites, making Kris squirm. Rinse and repeat until the deed is done.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And you're sure they didn't bite you anywhere else?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kris nodded in response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fantastic. Ted, have we got anything to wrap this up with? Where's that medkit? Ted?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, uh-" He sat at a bench across from them, fiddling with a scorched spider. He sighed. "I think we lost that medkit a while back. Remember? And that Cuddlebug place didn't have anything like that."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I remember now. I've got something just as good, now that I think of it…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kris mulled over the shoddy covering, a sock with a cut through the toes to allow his hand through. Duct-tape was used to seal it so nothing could infect the bites, but it felt stiff, with his wrist being especially restricted. Gary seemed to be satisfied with his work, though, so he never raised any complaints. Then he found his mind trailing back to the dream… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ted kicked a small pile of spiders into the grass and sat next to the young man. "You alright, kid?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yes." Murmured the young man. All his thoughts were consumed by his one and only lover. He remembered her voice, her touch, her smell. In that moment, he wanted her more than anyone else; more than his mom, more than his dad, more than his brother.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ted noticed a shift in Kris's person that he couldn't ignore. He leaned in, as if to put a hand on his shoulder, but only asked "You sure?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kris blinked and a tear rolled down his cheek, wiping it away with a dirty sleeve. "No," he blurted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... What's got you down?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hung his head, morose and shameful, but didn't answer. He didn't want to talk about it, he didn't want to think about it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ted grunted at the lack of response and got up as the boss had an announcement to make.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fuck this place," he loudly proclaimed. "Bad omens. Real bad. Ain't nothin' for us here. We're movin' in ten, get yer shit together or leave it behind."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sorry, kid." Ted apologized as he got up to sort his stuff out. Kris didn't know why he apologized, he didn't do anything wrong, but it felt nice nonetheless. Ted always showed the young man a tenderness the others couldn't seem to afford. After a while, he broke away from sentimental thoughts long enough to gather his things.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The band set out without any real direction. The Prince could feel the cops on their tail and he wanted to lay low before stirring more trouble. None of the others offered suggestions to the contrary, indeed they were used to such tactics by now. They left the state after a particularly nasty bout of hell raising, and, coincidentally, found Kris at the border, slumped over a log in a tattered sweatshirt… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cutting through the forest, Leyland shared a bit of his jerky stash with the rest of the gang, making merry to forget what transpired earlier. Even Kris, left shaken by recent events, felt in higher spirits than usual. It felt strange to admit it, but despite their wickedness, he grew accustomed to the roving band. They certainly weren't nice, but there was security in their numbers, which made all the difference. And, strolling through the shaded wood, he felt safe, even at peace- at least before realizing he'd lagged behind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Heard about this place back in Canton." said Leyland. The change of subject piqued Kris’s interest "Some low-life told me there was a town somewhere down south full of smugglers, you know, black market shit."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And why'd you wait to tell us now?" Questioned Gary, a leer in his eye.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Cuz we don't have nowhere to go right now!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Tsh, sure, pal."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bill butted in. "Wouldn’t trust no daggone CITY boy ‘bout nothin." The rascal rested a hand on the Ruger nestled in his waistband, bequeathed to him by his uncle. He couldn’t keep his hands off of the thing for long.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sounds like a honeypot Phalanx threw together." Ted munched on his jerky as he went, looking around for any unwanted audiences. “That’s just me though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kris hoped they wouldn’t devolve into one of their skirmishes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck are you accusing me of!?” Leyland stopped in his tracks in a standoff, much to the surprise of everyone else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ted turned and looked at the one he offended, shaking his head. “Accuse? Buddy, I never accused you of anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Paranoid,” remarked Gary. “Pure fucking paranoia.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thus, Kris’s fear came to pass, and unwilling to participate in the drama, he found a sturdy tree to lean on as the argument panned out. He thought of Susie as the commotion unfolded around him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once upon a time he and she went downtown at the tailend of the school year. The air was sultry and tender, birds chirping overhead in a brilliantly blue sky as Hometowners went about their business. Strolling down the quiet streets, going nowhere in particular, their hands slowly met and interlocked as one gaze met the other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kris was there at that moment. Enthralled by a delicate summer embrace at his former bully’s side. It was almost funny how things turned out, he thought. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were meant to be. Every day away from her was a day void of any real meaning, where the prospect of going on seemed fruitless. He was so desperately in love. He belonged to her… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Would you morons shut yer traps for FIVE FUCKIN' SECONDS?!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boss’s outburst shocked the bickering group into silence, and Kris out of his fantasy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now look.” he said, much calmer than before. Not far away was a clearing leading to a small valley, and above the treeline one could clearly make out a plume of smoke trailing into the sky, to which he gestured. “Campers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ted looked on, confused. “What’re you thinking, boss?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Takin’ their shit. What’d ya think, son?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bill visibly brightened at the thought of robbery and a chance to sling lead. “Yeeaaaaaahh boy!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eh… what about Kris?” They all turned their attention toward the young man at Ted’s comment, in turn causing Kris to hide his affected arm under his leg. The itch was beginning to overtake pain, nearly unbearable at this point, though he did well not to show it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kid’s still handy,” the Prince replied. “Ain’t like that arm’s broke or nothin’”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Although it was technically true, the appendage was so swollen he could hardly curl a fist, skin turning to a mean-looking red. He desperately wanted to rip the stupid sock off and scratch that insolent itch, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ain't Phalanx nor any bumass bounty hunter gon' look into nothin goin on in these here woods." The Prince continued. "Anyone havin' second thoughts can stay outta my way. Aight?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No one spoke against him, and they settled their differences for a time to chase another score. Kris sniffled a bit and continued behind them, cursing under his breath as he realized the coming migraine.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Half an hour passed as they neared the mark. The forest seemed to become more dense the closer they got, trapping the shadows with only a few scant rays of sunshine allowed through. Creeping onto a small hill overlooking a thicket, the campers were in clear view, sitting on logs around a bonfire. Behind them was a white truck, a rather nice-looking one at that, which housed a mound of something stacked on the truck's bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I count six…" Gary scouted the place out with his binoculars, lying prone with the rest of his comrades. "No, sorry, seven, maybe eight or nine… There's a guy in their ride."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Armed..?" The Prince whispered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"At least one. Guy feeding the fire has got an SKS or something beside him. And there're two monsters, could probably sling magic down range."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Prince grunted in response, thinking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Gimme them binocs."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He snatched them out of Gary's hands to peer at his mark, a cocky grin slowly spreading across his lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"All bunched up!" he chuckled. "We can surround 'em… pick em off…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kris's heart sank as it set in what was about to happen. That feeling, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>instinct</span>
  </em>
  <span> that guided him for so long, that told him what was wrong and what was right, it screamed at him to break from his allies, to not continue down this path. Of course, it did little to aid the throbbing pain now comfortably nestled in his cranium.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Leyland, Kris, Ted, run on down by that brush to their left… Gary, Bill, go round the truck… I'll cover ya."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Only got eight rounds in that thing…" Gary murmured, nervously scratching his cheek.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hehehe… yeap. Stay low, now. When yer all where yer 'sposed to be, I'll give the signal… if ya start before then I'll fuckin kill ya too! Now git!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With that his cronies were off, filled with anxious energy. Kris especially felt a sense of dread of witnessing death. Strangely, the young man felt no fear for his own life. He would pull through, he thought, through luck or otherwise. The feeling was quite odd…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By some miracle the trio made it to the thicket without drawing the campers' attention, a feat Gary and Bill must have achieved as well. Kris observed the group with interest as they lie in wait. The human with a rifle was dressed in a dirty brown jacket with a beanie over his head. He smiled and laughed at one of his companion's jokes, stoking the fire with a large branch. Another human sat beside him, noticeably shorter and skinnier, dressed in a grey sweater covered in paint and other stains. Across those two sat a miserable-looking woman in a blue hoodie and a hyena or some such dressed in a black leather jacket, plucking a few notes of a guitar. The other monster, a little fire wisp, moreso sat on the ground and leaned against his log, nodding off as the one who sat beside him got up for a piss. Kris noted the shoddy grey paint job on the truck, a very large truck when seen up close, and the bearded human passed out in the driver’s seat. Suddenly, Kris could see Bill peeking his head over the truck bed, eyeing what was likely going to be their prize. Just as soon as he arose, he was yanked right back down by Gary. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, they waited. The fellow came back from his piss, a swarthy human with curly black hair, sitting beside the wisp once again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, Harper can’t come soon enough!” The woman exclaimed. A mosquito landed on her forehead and she smacked it away. “This shit’s killing me! I-I could go without that stuff we got if it meant I didn’t have to hang out in bumfuck nowhere.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell me you </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>like basking in the great outdoors.” joked the rifleman, giving way to a giggle here and there, even from the subject herself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever. This still sucks! Bugs everywhere!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. But Harper’s not far anyway. Couple miles south and boom, we’re done. Be glad we’re not hanging around a fissure or something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Psh. It’s nicer out here than Harper.” The guitarist monster piped up, revealing a feminine but raspy voice. “Too many weirdos down there. Giving me the side eye and all that junk.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>POP</span>
  </em>
  <span>!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before anyone knew what happened, the rifleman was slumped behind the log, foot twitching. Everyone froze, unable to act, and Kris felt himself gag as he saw the traces of blood and brain matter on the tree behind where he once sat. The wisp jolted awake, his flame intensifying with shock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“J… Johnny…” stammered the hyena.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>POP</span>
  </em>
  <span>!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the next moment, she fell with a yelp, a bloodless hole clear through her shoulder, writhing behind the cover of the log. It was then that the others sprang to action, ducking away from the threat, not before another shot rang off and missed. But then there was another, then several more, much closer to home, and they saw the man in the truck with his head slouched on the window seal, a trail of blood flowing down the door and onto the grass.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Leyland, hyping himself up the entire time, jumped out of the bush with a cheap machete in hand, leading to Ted following suit with an old, rusty hammer, one going for the kid in the sweatshirt and the other for the woman. Bill let out a few more shots, hitting the fellow with the curly hair in the back, but he didn’t fall, instead bolting out of his seat with only pure adrenaline to keep him going, prompting another two shots, less accurate than before, one hitting his leg and another his ass, and he crumpled onto the ground in agonizing pain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gary sprinted out from behind the truck with his blackjack then, pummeling the wisp as Ted bashed the woman in the chin, knocking her out. Unwilling to go further, he sprang to assist Leyland, caught in a struggle with the sweatshirt kid, who produced a .38 from his waistband. “I’ll kill you!!!” he cracked, flailing the gun as Leyland tried to hold it in the air and choke him out, having dropped the machete on his way over.. “I’ll kill you- I’ll kill you- I’ll-” He stopped when Ted swung the hammer down onto his temple, once, then twice, standing back then and letting Leyland take over, who took the revolver from the ground and brought it under his chin, finishing the kid off with a bang. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silence afterward was deafening. Kris was left in the thicket, switchblade in hand, trembling like he never had before. The hyena crumbled to dust, and the curly-haired man’s moaning ceased with a gargled final breath. Gary, coated in dust, stood up and wiped it out of his beard and spat it out of his mouth, the grip on his blackjack still iron tight. They heard a branch snap to their right, and in their nerves all shot their attention towards it, seeing the Prince stroll forth with a satisfied gait. “Good work,” He complimented. “How’s that there wound, Leyland?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a huff, he looked down, confused, and saw his left pant leg soaked through with blood. “Shit, man…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry ‘bout it. If yer still standin straight it didn't hit nothing's vital. Sit down.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He did so, stepping over the man he just killed, gun still in hand. Everyone else was still, unsure what to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Seeing this, the Prince raised his voice. “Don’t just stand there, ladies, search their gotdamn pockets!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so they did.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>An hour later, the truck was on the road, scrubbed clean of the bearded man’s brains. The Prince drove with Gary as the passenger, the SKS that was gifted to him sitting across his lap, a few clips resting in his jacket pocket. The rest sat around the stash in the truck bed with their own things piled on, getting licked by cold wind. Ted examined his newfound hardballer, discovered under the hyena’s dust, tracing the intricate engravings with his finger. Leyland nursed his wound, which did turn out to only be a graze, the bullet whizzing straight past anything mortal. Without the rush of adrenaline, though, he found himself going through rough times, the gun that did it to him buried in his pocket. Bill seemed distant after the encounter, staring off into space, while Kris thought of everything but the here and now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembered when Susie was first invited to his house. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello Miss Dreemurr.” She had said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kris never saw her act so polite as she did that day. It was like a switch was flipped and she became the most prim and proper girl in Hometown. He always found it amusing, and endearing, that she was capable of such behavior. Of course, she wolfed down the meal Toriel prepared for the evening with reckless abandon, asking for seconds and wolfing it down, too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ooooh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>FUCK!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Leyland clutched his thigh with a wince as an incredible pain flared up, kicking and shaking as he couldn’t bear it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just get yerself a bottle of whiskey,” the Prince hollered, steadily speeding up the truck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yuh..” He reached under the tarp and dragged out a bottle, unscrewing it and letting loose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They could see the hint of a town on the curve of the road, their destination, Harper. Ted told the boss of it before they boarded the truck, and he was set on it. Leyland even claimed it was likely the black market town the man in Canton spoke of… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When we get there, act all natural, all cool, ‘n let me do all the talkin’, got it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Pytre skimmed through a vintage pamphlet on Snowdin, taking in the washed out photos of what once was. He had several pamphlets, alongside some magazines and, if he was particularly daring, a short novel or so, scattered around on the desk in front of him. He was supposed to be keeping a lookout for anyone approaching Harper's gate, yet in truth he only dealt with them once they got within earshot. And as it just so happened, he heard the ever familiar sputter of Johnny's truck. "Finally," he thought, and he opened the gate without even lifting his eyes from the pamphlet… </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The town was forlorn as any place in the darklands, the only difference was its liveliness; people of all kinds went in and out of its frankly unsafe buildings, indulging openly in substances that Phalanx would give you time for, half of whom were armed. People turned their attention to the truck, first curious, then confused, seeing occupants that weren't supposed to be there. A group of men approached brandishing rifles and pistols, circling the truck as an older human stepped up to the driver's side. The Prince rolled down the window to greet him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hello there." The old man said. He seemed calm, collected, and most of all, cold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hi." The Prince met the old man's demeanor in kind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And who might you be?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Passerby to yer fine establishment is all."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Uh huh." He lifted a hand to the door, feeling the traces of blood left behind. "And where'd you find this bad boy, hm?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Side of the road."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Really?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yessir."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He paced around the side of the truck, looking it over. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Those are some fine young men in your company."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why, thank ya, sir. Here-" The Prince reached in his pocket, making his greeter tense, but what he presented changed the mood altogether: a watch, coated in an incandescent gold, which he lowered toward the old man's waiting palm. "For yer fiiiine hospitality."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The old man put the watch on, admiring it. "Rolex. Hm." He gestured towards the goons surrounding the truck, and they lowered their weapons. "Why don't you ride on down to the old police station and we'll sort this all out, eh?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Of course, Mister…?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Mr. Ricotti. Go on."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Thank ya."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Prince rolled up his window, smiling like a madman as the others were left speechless. Kris practically curled into a ball as they drove off into uncertain territory.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Whatcha Gonna Do?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>WIP</p><p>Expect a major revamp of this chapter sometime in the future. I just really wanted to get it out seeing as I havent uploaded in like a month. I also have a lot of ideas for the next few chapters that I want to write as well!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clyde kneeled on the pavement, scooping a swath of spiders into an evidence bag as Grant took notes of the scene. Doggo napped in the van, along with Catti and Noelle, who couldn't bear the sight of the little creatures strewn about. Yesterday they ran into soldiers cleaning up the sight of the crime, which amounted to calling Phalanx and shrugging. Clyde informed them of the manhunt, met with more shrugs from the officers, then bid them a good day. Grant parsed the fields, finding the faintest tracks he assumed led in the direction of Sherring. It was a town swallowed up by a fissure and abandoned by the rebuild project and seemed a likely candidate for a hideout. They took a gamble and headed there, planning an assault assuming the suspects were still present. </p><p> </p><p>"Somebody was here at the very least." Clyde took the evidence, a strip of tape found on the table and the aforementioned bag of spiders, and handed them off to Grant. "Which way do you think they went?"</p><p> </p><p>"Uh." The tracker looked all around, then at his notes, then back to Clyde. "Heck, they uh, they're probably cooped up in the woods somewhere. And there's another town nearby- Harper, it's called, and they sorta forgot about it too. Doubt they'd head to any of the more populated places."</p><p> </p><p>"See if you can't sniff up a trail anywhere. Could still be fresh." Clyde looked out at the treeline, watching them sway with the wind under overcast skies. He inhaled deeply before speaking again." I'll be checking on the women."</p><p> </p><p>"Ehhhh… okay." Grant sat the evidence down on one of the tables, taking in the air and adjusting his specs as Clyde opened the back of the van.</p><p> </p><p>"... and then he took off his.. oh." Clyde caught the monsters unaware in the midst of some scandalous conversation, Noelle grinning nervously as Catti remained stoic as ever. </p><p> </p><p>"Uhm- d-did you find anything, Mr. Blackburn?" Noelle crossed her legs and twiddled her fingers, waiting for her boss's response.</p><p> </p><p>"They were here. I know that for a fact." He climbed in and sat down beside Noelle on the van's bench, propping his feet up beside Catti. "Might have to comb the forest for them.”</p><p> </p><p>“That could take a long time…” Noelle was coming to regret her choice to tag along with the bounty hunters. Not for the company she kept, of course not, but the already grating experience of hanging out primarily in a van amidst decrepit old towns and empty roads. That and fear of the gang itself. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry about it, Holiday. Grant’s good for this type of thing.” Clyde rested his head next to a compartment mounted to the van wall, which he turned to open. Inside was an assortment of things, snacks and items for first aid, seemingly packed in randomly. Clyde reached in and pulled out a pack of multi flavored gum, popping a few pieces in his mouth haphazardly before offering it to the girls. They both declined.</p><p> </p><p>“Got any smokes though?” Asked Catti. </p><p> </p><p>Clyde reached in once more, cursing as it took him longer than ideal to produce them, but finally presented an unopened pack of Dunhills. He blew a bubble and handed one to the cat along with a zippo from his breast pocket.</p><p> </p><p>Stoney as ever, she took them from Clyde without a word of appreciation and lit up.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh-uh, not in the van. Go.” He moved his legs to let her go, and she rolled her eyes and did so, leaving Noelle and Clyde alone with a snoring Doggo. </p><p> </p><p>“So.” Noelle sighed. “Uhm-”</p><p> </p><p>She was interrupted by another bubble popping. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes?”</p><p> </p><p>“I was wondering…” Noelle eyed the pistol at his hip, encompassing most of his thigh in its holster. “Where did you get it..?”</p><p> </p><p>“It was my dad’s.”</p><p> </p><p>“I see. Did he ever, uh, or did you ever-”</p><p> </p><p>“Did he or I ever shoot someone with it?” He blew another bubble.</p><p> </p><p>“Y-yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not as far as I know. It was meant to put the fear of God in people. Actually firing it would’ve been the nuclear option. Not the most practical pistol in the world, but…” he pulled it out of the holster, making Noelle flinch as he admired its heft. “... it got the job done. These are different times, though.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” She thought for a moment. "Do you think you could… actually u-use it?"</p><p> </p><p>"Sure." he replied, casually and without hesitation. Noelle was taken back by such a blunt answer, grasping for a response, but found none. The van door opened again which revealed Grant, standing with his arms tucked behind his back.</p><p> </p><p>"We've gotta lead, Mr. Blackburn!" he exclaimed, and Clyde was quick to follow him without another word. Noelle was left alone for a time, the first time in seemingly ages, pondering her position. If anybody would have told her where she would have ended up she would've called them crazy. Noelle, star athlete of Hometown, secretary to a bounty hunting firm! On the field, too, no less. She was ripped from such introspection as Catti hopped back inside.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey."</p><p> </p><p>"Hi. Uhm- what were we talking about?"</p><p> </p><p>"I don't remember. I doubt it was important anyway." Catti leaned back, resting her head on folded hands. "I thought this would be more exciting."</p><p> </p><p>"Ahh, yeah… but we always catch the bad guys at least!"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah. You better. I wanna see that douchebag rot."</p><p> </p><p>"What about Kris…?"</p><p> </p><p>The question caught Catti unawares. "I dunno. I dunno! I'm not even sure if it really was him. Even if it was, I probably wouldn't care. I dunno."</p><p> </p><p>"I see…"</p><p> </p><p>A knock at the passenger's window sent Doggo jumping and drawing a dagger from its sheath.</p><p> </p><p>Clyde circled around to the driver's, getting in before noticing Doggo's sleepy demeanor. "Focus!" He started the van in a rush. "Grant's got a read on our guys. I'm hiding this thing then we're off."</p><p> </p><p>"Guess I spoke too soon." Catti whispered.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The bounty hunters followed the trail, giving care not to let the girls stray off, especially Noelle. She found herself infatuated with the flora and fauna around her, something the others paid little attention to. Along the way, the doe spotted one of her own munching on the dewy grass, the first "real" deer she had ever seen. Fascinated, she would have moved in for a closer look, but the thing was startled when a branch cracked underfoot of one of the bounty hunters. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm not looking for you if you wander off, Holiday." Clyde snapped. Bringing attention back to the bath Grant led them on, he noticed something through the leaves above. Suspended in the cold blue sky was smoke. A thin, nearly vanquished trail of it, but smoke nonetheless. And the tracks seemed to head straight toward it… </p><p> </p><p>"See that?" He said, nudging Grant. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, uh… campfire. Yes sir."</p><p> </p><p>"Hell yeah." Clyde grinned for the first time in a while. "Paycheck's just ahead if we're lucky."</p><p> </p><p>He started a light jog, and his hunters were soon to take after him. Noelle and Catti continued at a more leisurely pace.</p><p> </p><p>"Ugh. I am NOT running after them." The cat scoffed, kicking a stick to the side as she went.</p><p> </p><p>"You… r-really don't seem to be taking this seriously. At all." Noelle folded her hands behind her back, distracted from the forest around her. "I mean, you've been pretty nonchalant about this whole manhunt."</p><p> </p><p>"As if you could talk. Like a minute ago you were about to go pet a deer or something."</p><p> </p><p>"Y-Yeah, but, I'm still pretty scared and all. Just trying to get my mind off things.</p><p> </p><p>"Well what if I'm the same way?"</p><p> </p><p>Noelle answered with little more than a huff, watching the bounty hunters go farther and farther away. She looked to Catti again, unbothered as ever, then started in a sprint after the men. She hardly wanted to be left behind.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey, wait-!" </p><p> </p><p>Catti tried to catch up, exerting more effort than she had in years. </p><p> </p><p>They would all be upon the campsite soon enough.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Clyde and Doggo were the first ones to see them. Men clad in black uniforms formed a perimeter around similarly colored APC, tucked behind the brush. Neatly placed around the smouldering remains of the bonfire were a multitude of grey body bags. Grant caught up, cringing at the carrion stench, as one of them, a human, approached the bounty hunters.</p><p> </p><p>"Sir." The fellow was soft spoken and wore a helmet fitted with a headlamp and shades over his eyes, obscuring most identifying features. Slung on his back was a fancy schmancy AR-15, looking like a larpers wet dream with all the gadgets thrown on without a thought given to ergonomics. "You're not supposed to be here."</p><p> </p><p>The whole thing screamed "contractor".</p><p> </p><p>Clyde sized him up before answering. He could feel the other merc's eyes on him. "You'll find I have every right to be here as you do. I reckon you're not with Phalanx?"</p><p> </p><p>"No sir. I don't think you are either."</p><p> </p><p>"Then who are you?"</p><p> </p><p>"SBS. Strawberry Skies."</p><p> </p><p>"Never heard of you. We're Sunbow and we're looking for a guy called Clarence Ferraro, representing Catrick Ripley."</p><p> </p><p>"... Catrick Ripley? Ferraro?" The merc turned away from Clyde, whispering something into his earpiece: "Ma'am, a guy's here looking for our man."</p><p> </p><p>"What is this? I- "</p><p> </p><p>The wind was knocked out of Clyde as a roundhouse kick was delivered to his spine, sending him careening to the ground, dazed and sore. </p><p> </p><p>"Augh, what the fuck- OW!" </p><p> </p><p>He could feel someone holding him down with their knee, cuffing him. Craning his neck, he found his associates in similar positions, Grant close to tears as his crime calculator lay busted beside him. </p><p> </p><p>"Whodya think you are, PUNK!? Trying to steal our score!?" A booming female voice commanded Clyde's attention, and out of the corner of his eye he could see the outline of her head, blue and red… </p><p> </p><p>"Hurk, I think there's been a misunderstanding…" Clyde murmured.</p><p> </p><p>"Shut up!" She put the pressure on him further.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey! Undyne!! O-Officer Undyne!" Noelle came prancing down from the ridge, nearly tripping over a tree root on her way to meet the old captain. </p><p> </p><p>"Huh." Undyne loosened her grip on Clyde, meeting the voice with curiosity and nostalgia. "Who the hell is that?" She fully stood up, causing Clyde to roll over, but she pressed a boot on his chest. </p><p> </p><p>"Uhm, it's me! N-Noelle Holiday, remember? From Hometown?" She was nervous. Very much so.</p><p> </p><p>"Ohhh. You were the rich kid, weren't you? Memory's not like it used to be." She redirected her focus back to Clyde, who was getting antsy under her. "What're you doing here with these stooges?"</p><p> </p><p>"W-We're bounty hunters and… that's my boss!" </p><p> </p><p>"That's right," he announced, squirming uncomfortably. "Now get the hell off me."</p><p> </p><p>"Not so fast, punk! You have a little bit of explaining to do. Make it quick." The tread on her boot dug deeper into his flesh, laboring his breath. It seemed the people from his secretary's past brought nothing but trouble in their wake.</p><p> </p><p>"Let me go n- argh, we can discuss the uh, finer points of bounty hunting." He coughed out a chuckle, and Undyne hesitantly pulled him to his feet. The other mercs followed her lead, lifting a teary-eyed Grant and ever unaffected Doggo, dragging them to the back of the APC, still cuffed. </p><p> </p><p>She threw Clyde down against the cold metal of the APC, taking the other two to join him. Noelle watched, worried out of her mind, barred from getting any closer than she already was.</p><p> </p><p>"So," she said. "Spill it out."</p><p> </p><p>Clyde took a deep breath before responding. "Like I told your cronies earlier, I'm from Sunbow Guard. Been on a fugitive's tail, just like you, I suppose."</p><p> </p><p>"And who hired you?" </p><p> </p><p>"Does Catrick ring any bells?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah. It does." She stood there, looking at the bounty hunters over with a cold glare. It was then that Clyde noticed the eyepatch over her left eye, accompanied by a gnarly scar running from her forehead down to her thin top lip. Undyne wore a black uniform like the rest of the mercs without the addition of armor, a mark of her superior status. She disappeared around the corner of the APC, giving way to the sound of one of its doors opening and slamming shut as she came back with what seemed to be a big block of beige plastic. </p><p> </p><p>"Here." Undyne kneeled down in front of Clyde, pulling an antenna out from the top and a speaker from the bottom, revealing the contraption to be some kind of cell phone straight from the 80s. "We're gonna call our client and get down the bottom of this, punk."</p><p> </p><p>He gave an indignant groan. "You testing me?" </p><p> </p><p>"What if I am?"</p><p> </p><p>"Fine then. I'll talk to him."</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Catrick lounged in his cousin's living apartment, sipping on Merlot acquired from the kitchen and nursing his jaw. It was the most fanciful apartment he'd ever had the pleasure of visiting. Doubly so for one in an unfinished town. Nebanice had nothing on this, he thought, finishing off his glass of wine. The place reminded him of everything before the world cracked open, when he'd drink apple juice and listen to his dad's new-wave collection. He purred and admired the golden swagger on the windows, the red carpet which felt like walking on clouds. Indeed, even the couch he sunk into was a red, luxurious leather. </p><p> </p><p>Catkle was out on "business", whatever business that might be was left unelucidated to the blissful nephew. Of course, Catkle knew he wouldn't complain if left to his own devices and with an open pantry. What he failed to consider was what Catrick would do while alone. Namely, what he'd do with his newfound, nearly limitless funds and thirst for blood.</p><p> </p><p>The old-fashioned rotary phone began to ring from across the room, startling Catrick. It was a surprise the thing worked, thinking it was but a decoration fitting his cousin's retro sensibilities. Reluctantly, he got up from the couch and slowly approached it, letting ring a few more times before picking up the receiver.</p><p> </p><p>"Uhhhhhhh… hello?"</p><p> </p><p>"This is Catrick, right?" The quality was crackly, but he knew who it was.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh! Uh, Blackburn, hey."</p><p> </p><p>"Hello Catrick."</p><p> </p><p>Catrick tried to come up with something to say as Clyde didn't take initiative. </p><p> </p><p>"Uhh, are you, like, finding them?" He hoped that they already had bullets between their eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes. And your girlfriend is fine, by the way."</p><p> </p><p>Oh yes, Catti. He forgot she wandered off with them for whatever reason. Probably to see those bandits hang firsthand.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah. Good. Uhhh."</p><p> </p><p>"Anyhow, I'm calling to inform you that you're in violation of SEVERAL of our policies. Policies that you signed to. Bitch."</p><p> </p><p>"Uhhhhhhhhh, huhuh, um, what? Like-"</p><p> </p><p>"YOU hired Strawberry Skies, who are in direct competition with Sunbow Guard, BEHIND my back while we were in the field looking for our guy!"</p><p> </p><p>"That's like… against the rules?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yes!"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh. Oh wow, I didn't know. I thought it was like… you know… I saw the other guys in the paper…  I thought with more people it'd be, like, quicker!"</p><p> </p><p>"That's not how that works. That's not how any of this works."</p><p> </p><p>There was a silence over the line. Clyde was concocting a plan in his head. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m thinking the damages will be added to your bill. For Sunbow and our friends at SBS."</p><p> </p><p>Catrick gulped and began to fidget nervously. He certainly didn't want to have the people he hired come after him. He wouldn't last a second running in the darklands.</p><p> </p><p>"Okay, okay, I'll pay it. Uhhh… how much?"</p><p> </p><p>"Mmmmm, along with the price of Mr. Ferraro's head, I'd saaaaaayyy… a million. A million dollars. You have that much in hard cash, right, sir?" Beneath the low quality crackle one could hear snickering in the background, a few voices speaking in hushed and unintelligible tones.</p><p> </p><p>"Yes… like… of course…"</p><p> </p><p>"Good. Miss Harris will add it to your bill. You're lucky I'm doing this, you know." Click.</p><p> </p><p>The abrupt end to the call left Catrick to ponder his predicament. No one ever told him not to hire more than one paramilitary group. In fact, he thought that would've been a good thing! But now he had to dish out at least one and a half million dollars because he fucked up! That's worth like a fourth of what a Speedtail goes for these days.</p><p> </p><p>He dropped the receiver and stepped away from the phone, flopping back onto the red leather couch, contemplating what he would say to Cad..</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Undyne snatched the phone away from a nodding Clyde. She crossed her arms with a scowl before speaking again.</p><p> </p><p>"Hmph. Guess you were right."</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah, I know." Clyde stifled his smile and returned to a more serious tone. He didn't want to get too smug while he and his employees were still in handcuffs, surrounded by armed men, after all. Still, the moment was savored. "Now, are you going to let me and my associates go?" </p><p> </p><p>Noelle sat at the base of a tree nearby watching the ordeal go down. She knew her boss lied to Catrick and by extension the mercenaries- there was no fine for "supplemental" hires, even if the practice wasn't preferred. That was made up on the spot to appease his captors and possibly reep a larger profit. It felt… wrong. She hoped Catrick wasn't smart enough to read the fine print of his contract again.</p><p> </p><p>All of a sudden Noelle heard the crunch of leaves behind her followed by panting. Catti finally caught up, tuckered out as she was, and upon witnessing the scene before her grew bewildered. "Hey… huff… Noelle… what's your boss doing- wait, is that-" </p><p> </p><p>Undyne, still peeved, ordered her cronies to undo the trio's bindings as she stormed into the back of the APC, muttering things into the cell phone. The mercs did so, pulling the hunters from the muddy ground as they went. Once his hands were free from bonds Grant immediately rushed toward the remains of his calculator, gathering the pieces and wiping the mud and gunk off of them. Clyde tried to shake off the grime from his suit and cursed under his breath, checking that the .500 wasn't taken from him. Doggo checked his knives as well, and somewhere along the line his backup escaped from the compartment in his boot. It was a tiny thing, only boasting a couple inches total, but it made 'em bleed in a pinch like nothing else.</p><p> </p><p>"Right." Clyde stretched his back but nearly howled as something popped. As Doggo groveled about for his knife and Grant weepily snapped the bits of his contraption together, one might be ken to the light mockery of the goons around them. The only thing to be done was to ignore, which they did to the best of their abilities. A wind came through and wafted the cruel stench of death through their nostrils, breaking through their numbness to it and reminding them of the bodies just next to them. "Ah, shit…" </p><p> </p><p>Without another word, under the distrustful eyes of the mercenaries, Clyde strode over to the bags without their blessing. When they didn't say another word against him, he crouched down beside one, slowly revealing what was under the grey plastic.</p><p> </p><p>A human guy, somewhere in his thirties, caucasian. The cause of death presented itself above his right eyebrow, a yawning chasm distorting everything around it. Unpleasant. But upon picking the photo of Ferraro from his pocket, the comparison was null. Even if he couldn't trust the facial structure, this guy didn't have the mustache. It seemed unlikely a guy like Ferraro would lose facial hair for any reason. One of the mercs went to tell Undyne what he was doing. Clyde paid them no mind.</p><p> </p><p>Second bag. No immediate victim in sight. He pulled the zipper down fully to reveal a dusty leather jacket, folded over black jeans, both adorned with patches and clear signs of a history. One hole, through the shoulder of the jacket, immediately elucidated the cause of death. It seemed to be a round as hefty as the other one, shot from behind. Then he felt a tap on his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>"Those aren't your guys. Our guys, I mean. Ferraro's gang got em." Standing over Clyde was Undyne, having done a 180° from her previous behaviour.</p><p> </p><p>"Guess we're just peachy now, huh?" Clyde found it hard to accept the piscine captain's change of demeanor. Especially when he was still feeling the effects of her outburst.</p><p> </p><p>Undyne flashed her teeth. "Don't push your luck, kid. I'm rarely so merciful."</p><p> </p><p>"Gee. Thanks." Clyde got up with some effort. He noticed another thing about the captain, something he hadn't been able to parse on the ground; she had at least half a foot on him. He still looked up and met her gaze with the same vigor. "And did you say 'our' guys?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah. This, right here, right now, is a joint operation. And our bandits murdered these people!" </p><p> </p><p>"Interesting." This was getting stranger by the minute. He still wanted to see where this might lead though, so he went with the flow. "And how exactly do you know they did it?"</p><p> </p><p>"Simple. We've got ourselves a witness. Leftovers from these guys here! Real talkative!" She pulled Clyde along, back to the APC, past Doggo, still on the ground, sniffing out his knife. He didn't realize a merc had it held behind his back, whistling a tune innocently. Grant noticed this, and before long an argument began to brew behind the two superiors. </p><p> </p><p>Undyne unlocked its doors and threw them open, revealing its utilitarian interior. Inside were weapon racks, a multitude of seats, and, crouched on the floor, a human woman in a faded blue hoodie. She reacted with disdain at the sight of them. Despite the cast fitted around her jaw, she hissed and moaned, saying "I'M NOT GOING TO JAIL! I'M NOT GOING TO THOSE FUCKING CAMPS! I'M NOT!!!" </p><p> </p><p>"Here she is," said the Captain. And they stepped in, Clyde eager for answers, and Undyne eager to see this "Blackburn" do his handiwork. </p><p> </p><p>Outside, all was not well. </p><p> </p><p>Grant dried his tears after putting the Crime Calculator back in one piece. "Hey Doggo," he said. The dog looked up, snapped out of his searching trance. "Ehh, that guy right there… see him? He's got your knife, buddy." </p><p> </p><p>The merc in question, covered head to toe in tactical gear, sighed and laughed. One couldn't make out his face, or even really what he was, thanks to the face mask and shades he wore. You could, however, sense the shit-eating grin on his face, one Doggo wanted to wipe off once he knew who held his little blade. He started in a jumping sprint at the merc, knocking them both back on the ground.</p><p> </p><p>"Don't take my stuff! Don't take my stuff! I'm gonna fucking kill you!" The merc dropped his rifle and they wrestled, knife flung away in the struggle. Doggo sensed it, pouncing for it, allowing the merc to escape.</p><p> </p><p>"Guys! Guys!! Stop!!!" Noelle ran down, unimpeded by the goons who stopped her before, wedging herself between the enemies. Catti rested at the base of a tree, groaning. "Morons." She crossed her legs and rested her eyes, yawning. The luster of seeing Officer Undyne after all this time wore off quickly when it took so long to catch her breath.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey!" Clyde stepped out of the APC, followed by Undyne, both bewildered by what was happening in front of them. The hunters were strapped for time, so he spared them a lecture. "Doggo. Grant. Calm down and go get the van. Swiftly. We've got places to be."</p><p> </p><p>"He took my knife, Mr. Blackburn!" He pointed at the perpetrator, who raised hands after slinging his rifle behind his back, saying nothing. </p><p> </p><p>"Do you have it now?"</p><p> </p><p>"Uh huh…"</p><p> </p><p>"Then quit screaming about the knife. And do what I say! Get the van! Doggo, Grant, go!" </p><p> </p><p>He tossed Grant the key and they were both off without another word. Clyde watched them go, rubbing his chin, Harper on his mind.</p><p> </p><p>"Mr. Blackburn." Noelle approached him and Undyne meekly. "Uhm. W-What's going on?"</p><p> </p><p>"We're scoring, that's what. Me and our… friends… here, are heading out. We're going to find Ferraro's gang."</p><p> </p><p>"Oh! Uh, w-where?"</p><p> </p><p>"Harper." Undyne butted in. "Down the highway. You sure you wanna tag along, girl?"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, I-"</p><p> </p><p>"Hey, who's that over there?" She pointed at a passed out Catti, drawing everyone's attention to the exhausted feline. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh. That's Catti- don't you remember? I-I went to school with her!"</p><p> </p><p>"Doesn't ring any bells. She with you?"</p><p> </p><p>"Catti's our client's girlfriend." Clyde said. "One of the bandits was a friend of hers. That's why Holiday tagged along, too."</p><p> </p><p>Undyne scoffed at the thought. "Doesn't look like she'd survive a ruck uphill, much less a fight."</p><p> </p><p>Another strong gust of wind swept through the forest, rustling the leaves and brush violently, even snapping branches on some of the trees around them. It threatened to blow one's effects right off their body, evident by mercs picking their guns and radios off of the ground. Noelle screamed as she lost her balance and fell, but soon after found herself helped up by Undyne. Clyde slicked back his hair and regained his composure. The wind only subsided a little bit, maintaining an uncomfortable intensity.</p><p> </p><p>"Nice fuckin weather we've got going here!" Undyne ferocity grew to match the coming maelstrom, cursing the heavens like she could come up there and beat it senseless. The complaints weren't limited to her either. Catti was rudely awakened by the storm, finding it difficult to stand in her wind licked state. </p><p> </p><p>The storm could flush the gang out of Harper, Clyde thought. He hoped his employees would fetch the van with due diligence…</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Grant and Doggo practically sprinted against the wind for the better half of their journey, hastened by the deteriorating weather. It was lucky Grant still remembered the direction they came from, and its simplicity, or else they'd be turned around in no time. It didn't seem like much time passed as they found the van securely wedged between two trees. All the loose branches and leaves Blackburn used to crudely camouflage it blew away long ago, and the ones still attached to trees smacked its roof rhythmically.</p><p> </p><p>"I'll pull it out I guess. Don't wanna be out in this crap anymore!" Grant flanked the van and struggled to pry the door open as another violent wave of air knocked into the hapless tracker. Doggo took shelter behind the van and waited for his partner to unlock it. Leaning against the door, he heard something. It shifted about, yawning, and spoke a word Doggo couldn't make out. He was about to warn Grant, but as the wind calmed down, the driver door swung and his partner hopped in triumphantly. "Got it!"</p><p> </p><p>"Somebody's in there, man!"</p><p> </p><p>"What? Wait- oh God! What the heck are you doing here!?" Grant sounded taken aback, but not afraid. Ke kept speaking to the mysterious passengers, piquing Doggo's interest, so he came round and stuck his head in through the window.</p><p> </p><p>"Hello 'ello." A clean-cut, tan human sat behind Grant chewing gum, as casual as an off kilter situation like this would allow. He was dressed in his favorite field jacket, beige and well worn, sleeves rolled up to reveal lean, hairy arms. Beside him was a smokey grey wolf monster in a black t-shirt with a hoodie wrapped around his waist. Between them was a motorized scooter, slim enough to fit the confined space but not comfortably. "Hey Doggo!"</p><p> </p><p>"... Bruce. Tesco."</p><p> </p><p>"Miss Harris gave us the tracker when we clocked in today. Back of this thing wasn't locked, either." Bruce spat the gum into his hand then wrapped it in the paper it came in. "New contract, I assume?"</p><p> </p><p>Grant's surprise quickly turned to irritation. "Where in Angel's blood have you assholes been!? We- we were on the job since yesterday!" </p><p> </p><p>"The boss is probably going to fire you." Doggo kept his demeanor collected but it wasn't easy. He was as happy as anybody would be getting their ass kicked by the elements. </p><p> </p><p>"He ain't gonna fire us. Boss likes us too much." Tesco gave himself a scritch behind the ear as he spoke, as nonchalant as was typical for him. They were both nonplussed, and they always were, but in these circumstances it was surprising to see them keep it up.</p><p> </p><p>"Yessir. Besides, it's a long story, so we'll sort it out with Mr. Blackburn when we find him. Where's he off to anyhow?"</p><p> </p><p>"Down the way…" Grant remarked. "We uh, kind of linked up with some other people. It was sorta on accident. But- shoot, we should go, Clyde's gonna kill us otherwise. Get in Doggo!"</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>After Sunbow was reunited, and Clyde laid eyes upon Tesco and Bruce, a brief but vicious altercation spun out. Rain began to mix with the brutal winds, bringing the accosting to a close, though Blackburn was hardly pleased with their presence. Being an entire day late wasn't their first fuck up nor their most severe. He recalled their utter failure at the Aeneru job. They were only kept around as new blood hadn't come to the Sunbow Guard.</p><p> </p><p>Regardless, they rode with him, sitting with the girls and Doggo, along with that obnoxious scooter. Clyde followed the SBS APC down the highway, the same way Ferraro's gang must have gone in that jacked truck. He could feel himself getting close….</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. A Room With a View</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The gang hangs out in a giant crackden; Sunbow cooperate with Strawberry Skies to infiltrate the place</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello stinkin</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mr. Ricotti paced around and stroked his chin. He felt the watch on his wrist, adjusting it to his liking. Earlier the old man showed it to someone familiar with fine accessories, gauging how merciful he felt today while the gang waited in the station. It was real, the guy said, so the rabble that just came through his gates looked a lot more respectable. Especially with all that loot in their wake.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The office was a dusty, dark, and empty place. The shelves behind the old man were picked clean, and the desk held little more than a ham radio and a picture frame, pointed away from The Prince, Mr. Ricotti's interviewee for the day. The bandit sat stripped of his weapon and separated from his gang as Ricotti circled him like a shark.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So." The codger stopped in his tracks, right in front of Clarence, and leaned on the desk toward him. He still wanted answers, whether they were true or not. "You say Johnny and his crew got got by the military?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Prince nodded. "Ah, well, I find it likely. That or ya have enemies. Either which way."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hm. I suppose a good old country boy wouldn't have any reason to lie." He spoke with a thick dollop of sarcasm. Of course, the Prince was lying- he didn't care. He posed an interesting business opportunity. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't talk to anyone about this and don't brag or you'll make people real angry." Ricotti waved the Prince away and called to the guard at the door. "Let him out."</span>
</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <span>Kris took deep breaths as he stumbled about the waiting areas he and his comrades were trapped in. Armed men watched over them, making sure no one got any bright ideas. The others seemed tired or nervous, having little confidence in The Prince to convince these people to let them go completely scot-free. Their guns were taken away, as well as anything that might be construed as a weapon. However, they neglected to search Kris's boot, where a little .22 Derringer resided, one that used to belong to the woman Ted knocked out. It was unloaded, but Kris felt a little more comfortable with it on his person. Maybe he could defend himself should the need arise. That feeling in his chest came again, as if to chastise the very thought of violence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Arright. Hehe." Down from the stairs to Ricotti's office came the Prince. He was held by the elbows on either side by the gangsters yet he seemed content with his decisions thus far. They let him go and shoved him toward his band. "Thank ya gentlemen." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gary piped up. "What'd he say?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Not much." The Prince answered. "Very matter of fact typea man. Anyhow, we're gonna be staying here for a lil while. It'll be like a big ol sleepover."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey uh… what about them guns, Mr. Flame…?" Bill whispered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We'll get ‘em soon," he whispered mockingly back. "We've got a guy to meet then we're hunkerin' down at the apartments. They're lettin' us stay outta the kindness of their hearts so don't bitch about nothin'. Understand?"</span>
</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, schén, Dit sidd wéi eng Blumm am Moundliicht. Dat seriöst Moundliicht!!!" A golem dressed in his best smoking jacket stood considering the posture of his subject, an enormous devil monster reclining on a chaise longue in the old school auditorium. She supported herself on the headrest and her legs dangled off the other end enough that her feet near touched the ground when she relaxed. She was too tall for that couch, much too tall, and the pose she struck was making her feel stiff.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Can I go now?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh Moundblummen, I pay you by zhe minute, do be patient." He made a few more concise strokes across his canvas before continuing. "In any case, I only need a little more of your time to finish zhat sweet little face of yours, Pupplechen Schatz." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fine."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Gooooood." With a few more minuscule movements of the brush, he added her serpentine nose and furrowed brow, casting a harsh shadow from her horns across the sanguine flesh. He took liberties with her expression, giving the devil a knowing and mischievous visage, whereas in real life she held a look of boredom. But the fervent painter was interrupted when he heard the auditorium door's rusty croak echo throughout the hall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Heard yer the man to see round here." The gang stepped through, one by one, lining up around the wall. The whole place was bigger than Kris's high school and was likely better in its heyday, but nostalgia for those times took hold. He could imagine students pouring in for an assembly, or parents watching their children's plays.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You are zhe men Ricotti's goons told me of? Ah! One moment." The golem whisked his brush in a small pail of water beside him. Once his hands were free, he produced a bundle of cash from his inner pocket. "And zhis is for you, Moundblummen. Don't blow it all in Canton!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The devil snatched it out of his hands as she walked past. "Blow me."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ahhhhh, casse-toi, retardéiert Lammchenfra…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, yeah." She brushed past the gang while she counted her money. Once she was gone silence fell over the auditorium and its inhabitants.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sorry for zhat." said the golem. "Greetings."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>More silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well. My name is Fritz. Zhat is what everyone calls me at least. Tis not my real name, but it shall suffice for our purposes."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm the Prince of Rain. Some call me Bad Boy Flame. Nice to meet ya."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Very well 'Bad Boy Flame'. I suppose you have somezhing for me?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yea we do." He snapped at Kris, who had the job of carrying some of their most valuable loot in a plastic bag. The kid stepped forward and presented the pouch to the golem as if offering up a sacrifice. Kris could see his reflection in the monster's face, silver and smooth, featureless save for beady eyes sizing him up. As he handed him the goodies, Kris pondered his accent, where he came from. He'd never heard anything like it before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Let's see…" A gold chain caught his eye immediately, and he pulled it out, holding it up to the light behind him. The gang watched as he scrutinized it for a while. “Yesssss. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Genuine</span>
  </em>
  <span> gold. Ah, her name is- Marie. Where do you find zhese things?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We hit cars on the road. They liketa pack their shit when they ride these days.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rich people's cars, it looks like, Léiwe Gott." The golem rooted around in the bag some, feeling for more metal specifically.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Love the fancy cars. Never ever steal 'em though. They'll track ya just like that." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kris retreated from the gang then. Nobody noticed. After the initial shock of being "captured" by Ricotti, the town of Harper seemed safe, at least as safe as a den of crime could be. It felt like he wouldn't be shanked for his coat and shoes, more than one could say for the seedier streets of Canton. This place was too organized for that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hallways of the school were dim. What little light seeped through came from classrooms, reflecting off the rusty lockers and marbled floor. He could hear the junkies making use of the abandoned rooms, saw the candlelight illuminating through the ones that were shut off. He came across a stairwell twisting upward with someone passed out against the rail. Keeping as much distance as possible from the figure, Kris made his way up to the second floor. At the last step, incense flooded his nostrils all at once. Strings of red Christmas lights were hung up on the walls, giving the halls an ominous glow. The lockers here were plastered with paper cut out hearts colored by marker, and above them were black and white photos of girls of all kinds. A door at the far end opened, a monster and a human drunkenly stumbling out. The itch in his arm, the one he thought disappeared, suddenly flared without warning. That was his cue to leave.</span>
</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <span>Pytre's eyes were glued to the horizon, huddled up in his coat and rainbucket. A leak appeared over the station's roof, right on top of his head, and wasn't helped by the recent weather. Normally he would've simply snuck out of the side and smoked if he hadn't experienced his last fuck up and subsequent beat down. Even if that gang turned out to be "welcomed" into their community, what if some real trouble makers waltzed in? Then his punishment might be more severe. The weather died down anyway, and the stream of water from the roof was less like getting pissed on and more a light drip from time to time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then his attention paid off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were five, no, six people emerging from the forest on foot. The lookout smashed the buzzer to the big man's office as the group approached.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Stop. Stoooop." Pytre's voice echoed over the loudspeaker.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ok. Ok." Clyde did as the voice commanded, raising his hand toward those behind him. "Are we cool?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What? No. I mean, I don't know, who are you?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Lemme handle this one boss." Tesco pulled a baggie out of his pocket and presented it to the gate man. "See this? You want it?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Doggy treats?" Pytre took a moment to comprehend the wolf's offer. "You're fucking with me. Don't fuck with me."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm not, this stuff is good. Think about it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Shut up." He buzzed Ricotti again, hoping for an answer this time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. Shut it." Clyde crossed his arms and said nothing else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sorry. Not a man of culture I guess. More for me and Doggo here, right, buddy?" Tesco nudged his fellow canine and chuckled, but he couldn't get anything out of him. Bruce humored his friend, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hell, I'd take it if he doesn't want any. Shit puts me on my knees."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Shut it, I said!" Clyde moved closer to the gate man's window and tapped on it. "Listen, we're only here for a little, well, what would you call it…" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Vacation. Say vacation.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" The echoey voice in the party's collective head spoke a word of advice. The SBS operatives hid away in the forest a few klicks east overlooking the town, working magic that allowed them to speak to the hunters and hear the things around them. It was lucky the mercs had a monster with such an ability in their ranks; if they used a simple wire their colleagues would probably be dead soon. The sensation almost made Noelle jump out of her skin each time, but she hid behind the men, and nobody seemed to notice her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Vacation. Feels weird referring to it like that, honestly."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Uh huh. I bet they told you we're some like some type of resort in Canton. Nebanice maybe. Maybe you're bogey's judging by your clothes. Who gives a fuck. Phalanx comes down here all the time."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clyde tightened his lips and looked away from the ranting gate man. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Noelle's heart raced as she waited for the gate to open. She tried to control her breathing, to go back to her happy place. Catti didn't stick with her, opting instead to stay behind at the base SBS set up. Noelle could have done the same, to enjoy the relative safety that would entail, but she pushed forward. She had it in her head to meet Kris, if indeed it was him. And, somehow, maybe even save him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then the man in the booth said something she didn't quite catch, and in the corner of her eye she could see people appearing behind the gate. It opened, and the shrill metallic scrape told her to face the music.</span>
</p><p>
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  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <span>"And zhis shall be your room." Fritz led the bandits past each dingy apartment all the way down to Room 248. The air was stale and the wallpaper was a sickly yellow, made even worse by dirty fluorescent lights overhead, buzzing incessantly. The golem took the Prince's hand and planted the room's key firmly and confidently in his palm. "Expect electricity and zhe like. Don't drink from zhe tap though! Bahaha. Anyhow, if you've need of my services, well, you'll know where to find me. Au revoir!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hyep. Thank ya very much." The Prince snapped the key in and twisted the doorknob. With a familiar whine of rusty hinges, the room was open to the gang in all its glory. They went in, Ted bending his head slightly to avoid scraping his scalp. All save for Kris. The kid was intrigued by Fritz, and him being a monster eased his anxieties. So he went after him, scratching his arm vigorously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey. W… wait." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Uh…?" The monster was nearly to the stairwell when Kris caught up to him. "Kand, vhat is it?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kris stumbled over his words. "I wanted to- well, I, uhm, I was, uh-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I've a deal to attend to very shortly, crache le morceau, jo?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yes." Kris centered himself by balling his good fist then letting go. "I was just wondering where… you… came from…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Such a question seemed to give Fritz pause. The golem stared Kris down with unknown intent, no expression visible to the untrained eye.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he finally spoke it was without his usual confidence. "Well, I- I'm from Luxembourg I zhink. Zhe land of steel as zhey say. Haha, ah, well, eh, I must be away. Good day." And with that, he was off, hurrying down the stairwell. The encounter was somewhat underwhelming… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Returning to the room, Kris saw the others getting acclimated to it. Leyland passed around his jerky again, and they all nibbled on it as they figured out their place here. The walls were a deep green against ugly, filthy beige carpet. A built in closet with a missing door greeted you to the left of the entrance, right across from the bathroom, which hadn't a door to speak of. There were two beds, with enough room for a couple of people to rest comfortably, but everyone knew that wouldn't happen. Against the back wall and in between two windows was a couch that's seen better days, covered in scars bleeding wool and a black mystery stain on the left armrest. A dresser across from the beds held a boxy TV with a busted out screen. Kris could only assume it stayed there for decoration or simple negligence and felt the latter was more likely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bill was standing awkwardly in the corner of the room. He took the last bite of his jerky then loudly announced, "Aye, uh, ah gotta piss!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What's the point in telling the whole world? Go piss if you've gotta piss." Gary said, testing his bed by feeling the lumpy mattress. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeap…" the delinquent pushed past Kris, still standing as stiff as a post in the doorway, and immediately there was a blood curdling cry like to burst your eardrums. Bill vaulted out of the bathroom and cowered under a bed, prompting the Prince to scold him and the others to investigate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kris was the first to witness the scene. In the bathroom, peering behind the toilet, was a rat with matted grey fur the size of a house cat. He could only stare blankly as it hissed as something out of sight, ignoring the human.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I didn't know rats could hiss. Do they usually make that noise?" Ted stuffed himself into the doorway to get in on the action. "Honestly rats are alright. I like rats. Look at this guy- ohhhhhh hold on!"</span>
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  <span>The rat was backed into the other corner by a trio of cockroaches forming a line against the hapless rodent. Hisses all around, the critters broke into a frenzy, clawing and buzzing at each other as the bandits watched with shock and awe.</span>
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  <span>The display entranced the Prince although he lost interest when he saw the cockroaches losing. "Hmm. Kris, ol boy, why don't ya go on down and talk to that Fritz feller for me. Tell 'im we've got ourselves a…" he was given pause when another cockroach fell from the ceiling to assist his buddies. "... an infestation. Go on now. Git."</span>
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  <span>Kris pulled away from the crowd when a few more cockroach reinforcements landed from the ceiling. As he sauntered down the hall, he could hear his comrades cheering on the bloodshed, and their neighbors banging on the walls. </span>
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  <span>The rain from earlier returned as an ethereal mist. The air sent shivers throughout Kris's body, and he zipped his coat and tightened the hood strings in response. Most had gone back inside or left the town entirely, leaving gangsters and passed out bodies on the sidewalks. As he tread along to the school, he felt like something crawled up his back, and in an instant the kid was compelled to look behind him. </span>
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  <span>There she was. Amidst a group of nicely dressed gentlemen was Noelle Holiday. The men continued, but she stopped, and they locked eye to eye in amazement. It wouldn't last. Kris felt a mighty fear in his heart then bolted in the opposite direction. He wanted to get as far as possible from this situation. </span>
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  <span>No one needed to see how he turned out. No one needed to know he ran with murderers. No one needed to know he still lived. </span>
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